#as always i love seeing annabel do nothing wrong ever

[feralfrey]

lenore: that’s a good girl

annabel: *fucking drops to her knees*

[celandeline]

Okay this is my first time asking for a one shot so I hope this makes sense. Okay how about Farleigh and reader aren’t close friends but they are close like behind closed door (if you know what I mean) and like reader is sensitive. So one day Farleigh makes a joke about her without noticing she is there and like hurts her feelings. Like does that make sense obviously you can ignore this if you want. But you if you could write about the part where he is apologizing to her (smut will be great honestly), but you do whatever you want.

sorry this took so long - i promise i'm working through all the lovely asks you guys sent me, it's just taking a minute (school and shit, you know)

anyways!

I'm Sorry (In Not So Many Words)

Farleigh Start is a lot of things. At first glance, a stuck up bitch, but that’s only the first of many layers. He’s wicked smart when it comes to literary analysis, can write an argumentative essay like nobody’s business, and breezes through books faster than anybody else you know. He’s funny in a bitchy kind of way that’s distinctly American and not to everyone's taste, but definitely to yours. He’s fashionable to a fault - a bit of a diva, truly - but on more than one occasion has held your hair back so you can vomit vodka into the toilet. He always has enough weed or coke or acid tabs to share and always has extra room in his dorm for you to crash if you’re too high to get home. He’s mean and nice at the same time, and to most people, it’s confusing. But not to you. 

To anyone else, you’re friends. Barely friends, even, connected only by the fact that Felix and Annabel are kind-of-sort-of a thing. You would have never have even met him if Annabel hadn’t dragged you into Felix’s circle, but you’re glad that you did. It’s fun, finding excuses to get each other alone, patting concealer over hickeys you’re not ‘supposed’ to have. And he’s nicer behind closed doors, when he’s not putting on a show for his cousin. You might even go as far as to say that he’s sweet, when it's the two of you alone. Of course, you’d never tell anyone - not that anyone would believe you, either. 

So when you overhear Felix ask Farleigh if he’d ever consider going out with you to double date with him and Annabel and he laughs, an icicle shoots through your heart. It’s condescending, his laugh; it’s you’re kidding and I would never and you can’t be serious all at the same time, and it shoots through you like a bullet. 

You don’t show up to Kings Arms even though Annabel texts you that that’s where everyone is, instead holing up in your room, the sound of Farleigh’s laughter banging around in your head. You don’t know what the truth is. Has he just been leading you on this whole time? Pretending to like you for… what? It can’t be sex, he can get that with other people, it can’t be drugs, he always supplies them, it can’t be money either… but the way he laughed, like it was so ludicrous that he would ever consider going on an actual date - a double date, even, which is really only half a date - with you. And to think that you liked him. Even just as a friend. Maybe you were wrong to think that his bitchiness was a front - maybe that’s just who he is. Maybe you were wrong to think that he was anything else. Maybe-

A gentle knock at your dorm door interrupts your spiraling, and you get up from your bed, padding across the room to look out the peephole, and find a familiar puff of curls. You’re opening the door before you can really think about if you want to see him right now, just out of habit. 

Farleigh smiles at you, and breezes into your room like nothing’s wrong. “Did I leave my grinder in here?”

“I don’t know.” You say, closing the door and retreating back to your bed, watching him sort through the things on your desk, looking for the little blue grinder he keeps with the rest of his weed supplies. He sorts through your things like they’re his - and if you’re being honest, some of them are. Over the course of the semester, the line between what’s yours and what’s his has blurred significantly. 

He turns around at the sound of your voice, peering down at you. “What’s wrong with you?” It’s teasing and sympathetic at the same time. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “I’m just not feeling well.”

He squints, moving from the desk to sit down on the bed next to you. “Uh huh.”

You’re really not in the mood for him right now. “Fuck off.” Why should you give him the time of day when he was so rude behind your back? You don’t really want to tell him off to his face - he’s quick as a whip in an argument, you’ve seen it firsthand - but you really, really, don’t want to see him right now. 

He laughs, sharp and surprised. “Wow.” He says. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “What, what?” You mock him. You know you’re being childish, but you don’t really care - it was childish of him to laugh. 

He rolls his eyes back at you. “What’s your problem?” He asks. “You were perfectly fine earlier, did I say something?”

“Obviously.” You say.

He waits for you to keep going, but you don’t. “You’re not going to tell me?”

“I heard you and Felix.” You snap. “Is the idea of actually going on a date with me in public, with other people, that fucking funny?”

His face shifts into something you don’t recognize. “I-”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, you should just say so.” You keep going. “I thought that we were actually, I don’t know, friends, at least. Call me crazy but I felt like I actually knew you, and actually liked you.” You laugh. “I just-” You pause. “Nevermind. I guess I was stupid for thinking that it went both ways. I guess I shouldn’t have, I mean, I was watching you do this same shit to other people, I don’t know why I thought I would be different-”

“I wasn’t laughing at the idea of going out with you, I was laughing because there’s no way in hell I would ever go on a double date with Felix and Annabel. They’re fucking insufferable as is.” He interrupts you, placing a hand on your cheek and turning your face so that you’re looking at him. “Did you really think I was laughing at you?”

“I wouldn’t have been so pissed off if I didn’t think you were.” You say, not quite sure whether to believe him or not. “But-”

“I’ll take you out.” He says it casually, thumbing over your cheekbone. “Just us. We can go get dinner at that new place by the pubs. If you want.”

All of the anger and doubt that had been piling up on your chest is suddenly lifted. “That sounds great.”

“Cool.” He says, grinning, his hand still caressing the side of your face. His fingers trail down the side of your neck and then he’s cradling your head, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours - softly, gently. It’s an ‘I’m sorry’ in fewer words, but you know him well enough to read it as an apology. 

You kiss him back, pouring your sorry back into him. You shouldn’t have been so quick to assume that he was laughing at you, you should have had more faith in the fact that companionship is a two way street - he seeks you out as much as you do him. It’s mutual, and in the heat of the moment, you had forgotten that. Sweeping your tongue into his mouth, you smile against his lips when he sighs into the kiss. 

He pulls away so that his lips are just brushing yours. “Let me make it up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You say, leaning back as he gently pushes you down on the mattress. “It was really my fault, I misunderstood-” 

He noses down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake as your back hits the mattress. His curls tickle your skin as he works down your collarbone, rucking up your shirt so that he can kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his lashes as he does. Butterflies swirl in your stomach as he kisses over the skin. “Farleigh-”

“What?” It’s teasing and playful as he sits back on his heels to thumb at the waistband of your pants. He drops his voice slightly. “Can I?”

You nod, and he dips his fingers below your waistband, gently pulling your pants down to your ankles. You kick them off the rest of the way as he leans back down over you, holding your eyes with his as he noses between your thighs. You suck in a breath as his tongue makes contact with your skin, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through you. Your tip your head back against the mattress as he starts to work his mouth over you. He knows how to use his tongue - there’s a reason there’s a rumor about him sucking teachers off - and he puts it to work right away, diving in like he’s hungry for it. 

“Oh fuck-” You wind your fingers into his curls, tugging at the root. He moans into your skin, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. It’s good - it’s always good with him. That’s another thing about Farleigh - you can always trust him to actually get you off. Unlike most of the other guys you’ve been with.

But you feel a little guilty that he thinks he has to make it up to you, when you were the one who didn’t bother to ask him what he meant. If anything, you should be sucking him off. Tugging more insistently at his hair, you pull him up to latch your lips together in a kiss, licking yourself off his skin. He pants against your lips. “Why’d you stop me?”

“I want you to fuck me.” You say. That way it’s even, that way, you’re both getting to enjoy yourselves. 

“Fuck. Okay.” He shucks his trousers and boxers down in one motion, kicking them down the bed. He’s already hard - but he usually is, after burying his head between your thighs - and you don’t hesitate to reach out and stroke him a few times, watching his face change into that almost pained look he gets when you fuck him.

You line him up, brushing his skin against yours, and watch as his eyelids drop to half mast as he pushes in. The stretch just borders on the edge of too much, but the groan he lets out distracts you from the sting. He always sounds so pretty when you’re like this, tangled up in the sheets of your too-small dorm room bed. You wind a hand into his hair and pull him down into the crook of your neck so that you can nip at his earlobe as he starts that slow, delicious grind you’ve come to associate with him. 

He sinks his teeth into the skin of your neck, gently biting over a hickey that he left only a couple days before, refreshing the mark as he muffles a groan. You trail your lips down the shell of his ear until you find his neck again, doing the same. His hips stutter into yours as you suck at the tender skin of his neck, and you smile. Even though he’s on top, he’s still putty in your hands - or mouth, really.

“Farleigh.” You whisper against the mark you just left.

“Mm, what?” He nips at your collarbone.

“Switch with me.” You say. “Let me on top.”

He laughs, a breathy thing that borders on a whine. “I’m supposed to be making it up to you-”

“Which is why you should let me on top.” You say. 

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you-”

“Please?”

His hips stutter against yours again, and that's how you know you’ve got him. He pulls you tight to his chest, wrapping his arms around you, and rolls across the mattress until he’s flat on his back and you’re straddling him without ever pulling out. Sitting up, you take in the sight of him, pupils blown wide, lips still slick with spit, a blooming mark peeking out from behind his ear, and plant your hands on his chest for leverage as you start to bounce. 

He grins, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth to muffle the moan that forces its way out of his chest as you work yourself up and down his cock, his hands finding their place on your hips, fingers digging into your skin. You purposefully scratch your fingernails down his chest to watch him squirm, and he uses his grip on your hips to fuck up into you, to watch you falter. It’s a fun game that you play, who can make the other keen and whine more, made even more fun by the fact that more often than not, you win. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Farleigh rasps, his grip tightening as he takes over your bouncing for you. You let him move you at his own pace, able to tell just by the way he whines that he’s close. He throws his head back and you watch his stomach tighten as he lets out a long groan. His whole body tenses, and then stills. You wait for his eyes to flutter open before you start bouncing again. 

He gasps, a high pitched laugh leaving his lips. “Shit-”

“I’m almost there.” You say, watching his face as the coil tightens in your gut. 

“Take your time.” He says, panting. “I’m good.”

He always says that, but you know it’s only a matter of time before it’s too much and he starts to grit his teeth. You know what it’s like - you’ve been on the other end before, already came but Farleigh’s still fucking, the drag growing more overstimulating the longer it goes on. So you bounce faster, focusing on the way he looks underneath you, debauched and panting, eyes half lidded as he watches you go up and down, sweat gathering in the hollow of his neck. God, he’s so beautiful. 

“Ah-” 

You shake apart on top of him, and he catches you as you slump down onto his chest, arms wrapping around your middle. You nose into the crook of his neck with a sigh, contentment washing over you. “‘M sorry.”

“For what?”

“Being stupid. Thinking you were laughing at me. Sulking about it.” You say, pressing a kiss to the warmth of his skin. 

“‘M sorry for making you think I was laughing at you.” He says. 

You sigh. “We’re good?”

“We’re good.” He says. You can hear the smile in his voice.

[trials-of-a-spirit-worker]

Ghost Hunting Shows Opinions and Why

Ghost Adventures

I can’t even begin to tell you how fucking obnoxious I find them. I mean I’m sure you see it from my writing. Anyone who’s been here long enough knows how I feel about these fuckers.

“Aaron, I magically have a condition where I cannot go down the spooky basement where this aggro spirit, that I’ve managed to piss off in the last 20 minutes is lurking. He’s known for snapping necks. Go down there with a glow stick and go hump the pole, he hates that. Good luck.”

Poor Aaron though. Everyone does the dirty work and Zac just sucks up all the notoriety and shit cause he’s supposedly “conventionally attractive.” (I don’t see it. And you can’t give me the queer excuse. Cause I still like men.) And the voice he does. Annoying. Who the fuck talks like that? I'd rather hear Channing Tatum's shitty gambit do this shit.

Honestly, especially since there was all these articles and confessions about them forging evidence, I’ve just liked them less and less. Ghost hunting and paranormal things of that nature in the world of science is already seen as a joke and shit. We don’t need these chucklefucks fucking up that reputation even more cause they want to make ratings. Where’s the love? Where’s the passion? 

Hate em. 0/10

Ghost Brothers

Okay, can I talk about how much I love the representation though!? Cause its usually a joke that the Black people die first in scary movies cause we make too much sense or we just don’t end up in that situation. Which I mean…true. We don’t stay long in scary ass situations. Spooky ass shit happens we fucking leave. Point blank.  But yeah, love seeing my brothers working in the ghost hunting game.

Now they’re greenhorns, in every sense of the word. But that isn’t a bad thing. They’re adding new perspectives, are not afraid of learning. They use their feelings and their bodies alongside the technological evidence. What I really like about them is how respectful they try to be. They always err on the side of politeness and you can’t go wrong with that.

One scene that will live with me forever is when they all tried to date that one ghost who was ghosted (sorry for the pun but not really) by her lover and killed herself in despair over it. That scene will never not be funny/cute to me.

“You deserved someone who would be there for you, and I think I’m that guy.” Iconic. I want to see more of them and I heard some rumors it might return. I want the blackness so bad.

7/10 I want to see them go further.

Ghost Files/Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural

As much as I shit on both Shane and Ryan, and I love doing it. It’s my favorite one. Doesn’t mean Shane’s a good influence. I do like the idea of having a skeptic doing the hunting with you. It keeps you grounded and honestly, I respect that. What we need most in these types of these investigations is discernment. And other than the clear comedy and chemistry Shane delivers with Ryan, that's his purpose in the show. He's the reality to the hopeful in ghost hunting.

I say this as a firm believer myself (like no shit Sol, you're a death witch and a spirit communicator), we need more skeptics and people to keep the situation grounded for MULTIPLE reasons. We get excited, our desires/biases lead to looking more into results that might not have much. It's when the non believer/skeptic had nothing where we can get excited. Ghost hunting still follows the rules of science and the non excited/non believers help us being the control and the ones to demand repetition.

Now, on regards of if I think Shane is a fucking demon? I honestly just wouldn’t be surprised if he was. Cause he does some bullshit I don’t think anyone else can get away with. Disrespecting Annabelle to her face and living? Something’s looking out for that tall motherfucker. I’m checking him with holy water if I ever get the chance.

8.5/10

Ghost Hunters

The most respectful ones I’ve seen. They treat the ghosts humanely, with dignity. And from what I’ve seen they get good results. They’re the only ones I’ve seen that have been at the sites for multiple days as well. They use what they learn from their prior day to expand and get better evidence with the spirits. It's very cool to see and honestly in a way, super professional of them that way...

Another thing I like about them is they debunk when they can, sometimes right on the spot. I respect people who do this, because like I said, no one takes this type of thing very seriously because so many people take every bump and creek as evidence and that gets…annoying and discrediting. So, I have mad respect for them.

8/10  

My Haunted House

Okay, Lifetime, what the hell are we doing? This is a hot mess. The most horrifying thing about the show is the shit acting. The stories are cool though. My spouse and I make fun of this show…a lot. Its just good for entertainment. Something to listen to in the background if you ran out of true crime podcasts.

Good shit. 4.5/10

[queeniecook]

January 25 - Part 2

The Sun came up and was halfway in the sky by the time Este and I reached BrindleBay. I drove us there, I don't see the point in taking the private jet for a trip like that. Plus Este has yet to be on a plane. I'm not sure how she'll handle it.

Jillian was still in her Pajamas at the house, which I don't blame her. She's been through a lot. I can't imagine going into labor in the middle of a snowstorm and having to seek shelter in an abandoned house. Not to mention what happened after that. It's a miracle she and Slade are healthy.

I told her I'd watch Slade while she cleaned up for the day. Este found toys in the nursery, so she was good for about a half hour.

He's a cute little guy. It's a bit weird. Holding the baby of a man you used to date and have really strong feelings for and will always care about - but I'm happy for him and Jillian too.

"I bet you're going to be a heartbreaker when you're older." I told Slade softly as I rocked him. I glanced down at my own child, who was busy playing with a harry puffer toy. 

~A half hour later

"Don't get me wrong, we're all glad James helped you. But don't you think it's kind of weird he somehow knew were you where?" I asked Jillian after she filled me in on what she remembered from the night Slade was born.

Meanwhile, Este was making friends with Annabel Lee. I smiled briefly at that before looking back at Jillian.

"I guess I haven't really thought about it much because I've just been grateful my son and I are both alive." She admitted to me. "It is kind of odd."

"Yeah, he don't live here. He lives in Forgotten Hollow which is over an hour away." I told her, I remember the trips well due to my time going to see Caleb there. That seems like a lifetime ago now.

"Maybe it was just God's way of working things out?" Jillian asks, glancing down at Este and her cat. 

"It could be. Just...be careful around James. Please." I requested. I don't trust that warlock at all. I'm sure she's seen a different side of him but Caleb has known him longer than the rest of us. He don't trust James and that's good enough for me.

About that time, Jillian's Mom- Denise Ambrose arrived. I had yet to meet her and I instantly liked her. It made me miss my Mom. I wish she had gotten to meet Este.

"You really do need to talk to Dakota. The longer you two don't talk, the longer it'll fester. The uglier it can be." Denise reminded her daughter after she set the table with a dish she made in an instant pot. 

"I agree with your Mom, for the record. There's time I've wasted fighting with Caleb and I wish I hadn't wasted it now." I commented. Like after we found out Liberty is a "alive" and is a vampire. I didn't talk to my husband for weeks and it was while I was pregnant with our daughter. 

"I know admitting you were wrong can be uncomfortable, honey but you need to." Denise said after sitting down to join us. 

Jillian shoved a bite in her mouth to avoid saying anything.

"Both of you could of handled the situation better but nothing goes smoothly in the heat of the moment. You two love each other, it's time for talking and making up." Denise finished her thought before taking a bite of her own food. 

I almost cried a little. If my parents were around, maybe I'd avoid some mistakes but then again, are kids ever good at listening to their parents? Even when they're older? Still. I miss them. Jillian is blessed to have both of her parents. I hope she knows that.

<-previous

[notafunkiller]

I love how people who talk about seb's sex life (they way they imagine it to be which is another big red flag), defend annabelle's problematic behaviour, encourage stalking etc say people like you are the cause that drove a fucking hollywood actor away from IG. They need to touch grass NOW.

He always talked about SOME weird fans following him around, but he also said the Marvel fandom the best. Bc guess what? This fandon kept him popular and cares for his character.

What I find hypocrite is how he allows people like annabelle and her friends to directly expose his location... post on twitter from a burner (talking about the football match pic with them at different tables), annabelle stalking his fans, then him saying people around him do not sell him out :)))

Also, whoever thinks random respectful people on the internet (who do not believe in a relationship for various reasons) can influence an online presence of an actor is deadly wrong. And it shows you know nothing about Hollywood, the film industry or pr. Seb is 100% on social media, just not posting... and no, it's not bc people fo not like annabelle wallis.

No one from the PR "team" (since we are back in 2010 with teams and fan wars) ever came up with such a direspectful, dumb idea as giving hin a list with a bunch of usernames with people who don't "ship" (as you said... shipping real people is strange af) him with a problematic person and real haters...

+ sorry you actually post about the person you follow and like aka sebastian and didn't change your account into an annabelle fan account like others :)).

Oh you are a terrible fan for not talking about how veiny his c*ck must be, how annabelle will suck it after he comes home (on behalf of the fans), how she will look pregnant, how sebastian MUST have babies,.

I got called a prude and a dumbass for pointing out how these comments are absolutely not okay and I saw you were too. It's so weird how these people can't see how problematic this behaviour is and "hoeing" on sm is different from oversexualizing a man (very one direction of them... since I saw you are a harry fan too, you understand what I mean), projecting your fantasies onto a random woman who happens to be with your favorite actor (bc they were not talking about her before she was with him lol).

It's sick and twisted and I am tired of them playing good fans, angels meanwhile they are stalking, bullying, driving good people away from the fandom.

Where was this attitude they have for annabelle and her horrible attitude and actions when he was with alejandra or margarita?

Since you talked about xenophobia I seriously thought about it and it makes so much sense.

For a bunch of people who are in their 20s they are really naive, rude and clearly do not understand many things.

My piece of advice fot them is: Stop. Being. Chronically. Online.

This fandom stopped being fun, but I am glad I found a couple of people (like you) who have logic and speka their mind.

Sorry for the long message <3

Please do not apologize!

Everything you said is sooooo on point. I do not know what to add.

Thank you and I am sorry you had to see and experience such meh things

[landscaping-your-mind]

Weaver time! I really do like this episode. If I'm being honest I like every episode - bar a couple stranger ones in season 3, they just weren't scary to me - so that isn't much of a surprise, but it's a pretty good one.

I'm also pretty tired, so... yeah? After this I'm going to go to sleep.

@a-mag-a-day

The concept of free will gets me pretty excited so enjoy the words!

This includes: love of Jon Sims, looking at Jon's life through the lens of "this guy ADHD", cat photo, musings on free will (good words), how are the tapes turning on, what does Annabelle mean about the statement summaries, musings on what the web is and "The Spider & The Eye" by pocketsizedquasar propaganda, discussion of Enid Blyton books, among other things.

DAISY (Quietly) Perhaps they bugged out. ARCHIVIST Was that a joke?

Asjdjshfhsjh I love him so much your honour. I want to shake him a little bit.

MELANIE I'm fine. Uh, a-and please don't call me Mel. DAISY What? Since when? MELANIE Always. I’m trying to be more open about this stuff.

Hnhrnhrh Melanie my absolute beloved <3 I'm glad she's getting better, that's good for her, you know. Being ok is really great actually.

ARCHIVIST I'm sure the flares will work fine. I mean, unless it's all some elaborate plot to have us burn this place down again. BASIRA So what if it is? ARCHIVIST I don’t follow. BASIRA I mean, anything we do could be part of the grand master plan. So, what, we do nothing? Just sit on our hands and hope that's not what the spiders want?

Jon's either incredibly impulsive or incredibly indecisive, which... A) Attention Deficit Hyperativity Disorder (the name is a misnomer, not a deficit, etc, i mean he's adhd though) and B) I mean like... that's sort of partially why he ended the world? I mean like grabbing this kid, dead parents, granny doesn't care about him - and yknow, a shitty childhood affects you, and with this Extra trauma, he'll be alienated from other people, due to the mundane things and because... you can't tell anyone about the spooky stuff.

And then he's already probably predisposed to be impulsive, to not think things through, and then ADHD it's... not a Great Time. Because of other people. You know, you're either too much or not enough, no one's ever going to like you so why try. With him it's like "I was an annoying child." "I was hardly an easy child to deal with." Like, not to sound like a broken record, but I see myself in that. It's not always malicious, but yeah, when you're always too much, too loud, too annoying, you internalize it, think there's something wrong with you, cut people off, don't... try.

Like, Elias's plan sort of depended on the Archivist and the Archival Assistants being... isolated. No one'll notice, or care when they die, or go missing, or change. And, I mean, yeah. He was pretty much alone. Is it an ADHD thing to have no best friends? Is it an ADHD thing to never wonder why you're alone? Like, he was closest with his assistant, who he suspected of murder, and his ex-girlfriend who he hadn't talked to in years. His work-life balance was terrible since before he discovered he'd work for life. Also ADHD ppl usually have a higher rate of substance abuse and addiction, because of the whole less dopamine thing.

This is getting so bloody off topic. Jon's combination fear of being manipulated and his impulsivity and inability to think things through, in addition to all the other things detailed above make him a great candidate for ending the world.

Sasha's too friendly, and we don't know enough about her to really draw any conclusions about how good of a (spooky) Archivist she'd be. I'd say she'd be a better mundane archivist but none of those people had anything even resembling a library science degree, and she was stapling things. Apparently you're really not supposed to staple things.

Melanie, I think, would be a great (spooky) Archivist, mostly because she's so similar to Jon. What with the whole chasing after War Ghosts thing, and being pretty prickly, and I think that she could have been an Archivist, Archivist!Melanie guys, come on, think about the possibilities! Also this leaves the door open for Flesh!Jon and I fucking love Flesh!Jon, but now is really not the time to get into that.

ARCHIVIST Yep. Official Institute paper and everything.

Official institute paper should be available as merch smh.

WHAT IF THEY HAVE PENS?? DO YOU THINK THEY HAVE OFFICIAL INSTITUTE PENS? THEYVE GOT TO RIGHT? OH THE POSIBILITIES OF NOVELTY STATIONARY!!

Free will is a funny old thing, isn’t it, Jon? Can I call you Jon? I’m going to call you Jon.

I mean, hey! It's an improvement on the other Avatars! He gets to be called a name! Lovely jubbly!

With any other animal, we talk about instinct, we talk about training. Perhaps, if we have spent enough time with them, we talk about personality. But we never talk about choice. We never look at a dog racing wildly after a thrown ball and think, ‘What an odd decision that dog has made.’

My cat, Marble, chases after things like a dog. He's so odd /pos, I love him so much.

Cat Anecdote (Catecdote?): Ereyesterday, early in the morning - so early to be basically still the day before - Marble climbed onto my bed and lay right beside me, and as I stroked him I realized how small he was - Marble's a mainecoon so he's a LOOONG cat - but, I realized that he's still just a cat, and as he purred as I fell asleep, I knew that I loved him more than anything else in the world. I love him so much.

[ID: A photo of a cat, sitting down with one paw raised, looking at something above the camera. He's a tabby maincoon, and is dark brown, light brown, and grey. His legs are mostly dark brown, his stomach grey, and the rest of his body a mix of dark brown and light brown. /End ID]

Look I had to include a photo of him. Sorry, this was so irrelevant.

Of course, people are so very different from dogs. Our brains are larger, more complex; so many more little factors and wrinkles to push us and pull us. But does any of it actually constitute free will? Free of what? We all have forces that drive us, circumstances that direct us, and even if we choose to ignore these and act against all logic just to prove that we can, is that not simply allowing the existential terror of our own powerlessness to control us instead?

!!!

Look, okay, if someone knew everything, knew everything about you and everyone else and the world and everything, then theoretically, they would be able to know exactly what you'd do. We're all pushed and pulled by forces in our lives, no matter how unpredictable you are, there's always an underlying reason, and if there isn't... well there's your reason.

I was baking a while back, and thinking about this episode, and I realized that every moment in my life had lead to me, standing in the kitchen, thinking about The Magnus Archives, and looking for some kind of measuring cup, and I realized that whatever decision I made, if I took one from the drawer, or from the dishwasher, or left the kitchen entirely, that choice was not my choice, none of them were, my whole life has been preordained from the very beginning, not in some fate way, but in that everyone is affected by the circumstances around us, and this just makes what happened happen?

Yes, we're responsible for our own choices, but are they really our choices? If knowing everything makes them not - which I believe, it makes sense - then they are and were never our choices, free will is ignorance.

Not only can free will and omniscience not coexist, but free will has never existed, it's just a lie we tell ourselves, because it makes sense to us. Why am I lying on my bed typing this out? Because I wanted to. But no. It's because Sixteenthdays wrote The Hermit Archives AU, it's because my sister got into an unspecified university, it's because Ashes started a mag a day, it's because the pandemic happened, it's because I was curious about hermitcraft fandom demographics, it's because I have a computer, it's because of so many things, and none of those things were done randomly either. I presume Sixteenthdays is writing THA because they like both TMA and MCYT. A mag a day was started because The Magnus Archives was created, because the mods wanted to re-experience the community created from the episodes initial airing. My sister got into the unspecified university because we moved to unspecified country. And that's only a fraction of the factors that lead to me, here, talking about these factors.

Terrifying to think about, isn't it!

He ultimately decides that, if all the millions upon millions of factors and influences that weigh upon our choices were fully and completely known, then all could be foreseen and predetermined. But, he argues, it is quite impossible for the human mind to comprehend even a fraction of these, and in that vast, dark space of ignorance lies ‘free will’.

Come onnn Jonny, we had an omniscient character who's bloody terrified of being out of control, I really really do wish that we'd gotten more of this sort of thing in season 5.

Like I get why not, his omniscience has limits, we're more focused on other things, but there was a missed opportunity there, I feel.

Where would it fit in? Idk!

I think that one probably comes down to whether or not you’re choosing to continue reading this statement out loud. You didn’t mean to, did you? No, I’m sure you told Basira and Melanie that you were going to glance it over and report back. Perhaps they asked you if you were going to record it and you shook your head. “Maybe later.” That sounds like the sort of thing you’d say.

!!!!!!!!! oh boy!!

Do you think that's... exactly what he said? Because I think it's exactly what he said and he's just like Oh Boy!

But think about it, Jon, when’s the last time you were able to read a statement quietly to yourself without instinctively hitting record and speaking it aloud? Is it just instinct, habit? Or is it a compulsion, a string pulled by the Ceaseless Watcher or the Mother-of-Puppets? Or both?

That raises the question - are the tapes turning on by themselves, or is Jon (and by extension Martin and co.) turning them on unconsciously. The Web has shown an ability to... distract... people what with Jon and his lighter. Jon's also been shown to forget to turn tapes off a lot of the time, and Tim did mention that Jon was just reaching for the tape recorder when they were talking (MAG 98). I feel like that's actually more plausible to me than them just... turning on by themselves. The Web's all manipulation and stuff. Alternatively, it's Annabelle Cane hiding under Jon's desk /j.

I know the summaries have started to confuse you. Where do they come from when you read a statement fresh? How do you just sort of know what it’s about before you even start to read it? But by then, you’re away, the rollercoaster is dropping and you’ve no real choice but to hold on and hope that I don’t crash you.

I'm guessing this is referring to statements that haven't been read before, like MAG 123 - Web Development. That raises the question, though, what about the statement of Hazel Rutter? I mean, he obviously didn't know what was going to be inside that, and The Eye can't lie.

Actually, I think Elias, you know, he just put the summary there so it wasn't one of the spooky ones, but like he's already... tied in by the point where he's reading the summary. No turning back, already too deep.

Also that line, just, "hope that I don't crash you." Hmm. Oh, Jon, there really was no way to avoid it.

Of course, I learned many of my skills from my mother, who could wield guilt like a rapier and anger like a scalpel. She never simply screamed at you. She was always aware of exactly what kind of fury or disappointment was needed to make sure you regretted ever catching her attention.

Sure! Did Annabelle grow up to... sort of be a part of The Web? Yes, she did. Sure, maybe it's manipulative, but you know what? I've been called manipulative, I've been worried I'm manipulative, and if The Eye can be the fear of being both Watcher and Watched, The Slaughter the fear of the one getting hurt and the one hurting, The End the fear of the one who stays alive forever and the one who knows when they will die, then The Web can be the fear of the one being manipulated and the one afraid of being a manipulator.

She might not have been afraid, sure. What we know of Annabelle's childhood is from the perspective of her fundamentally changed - in more than just the regular way - from that. We just don't know what she was feeling before, we barely know anything about her.

Just read "The Spider & The Eye" by pocketsizedquasar, it's really good, the first lines of the summary live in my mind rent free.

Annabelle Cane has a choice to make. (Annabelle Cane is not sure what choice is anymore).

Like! Aa! Sahar has great words.

She had eight children, yet weaved that life around herself in such a way that she always seemed both the victim of it, yet curiously divorced from any responsibility. In many ways, she was the victim, at least of my father, whose pathological absence spoke of a man who had no interest whatsoever in engaging with the life where he had trapped his family.

Uh nothing to say, just highlighting it. Hmnhrnh good words.

My biggest attempt to assert some form of influence over my family was when I decided to run away.

I've actually packed a bag to run away before and let it be known I was much worse at packing than Annabelle asjdssjfg

and the only book I could say belonged to only me: Five Go Down to the Sea.

I was always more fond of The Five Find-Outers and Dog, and The Adventurous Four, though I did like The Famous Five. I also really liked Mallory Towers. George from The Famous Five is definitely the reason I'm trans.

I will simply say that when a spider reaches a certain size, it is not entirely made up of spider anymore.

Hey, what the fuck does this mean! :D

So, how much free will was involved in that story? What could I have chosen to change? Would a different path have been possible? I felt no loss of control – no puppet strings guided me – and yet the Mother got exactly the result she no doubt wanted, one that would lead to a fear of spiders so acute that would later have that horror focused and refined into a silk-spun apotheosis.

Isn't it more terrifying to not know for sure whether you're being controlled or not? To be frozen in terror and indecision, unsure of which action you will willingly take will be the one they want you to take?

The Mother is the fear of manipulation and lost control made manifest, so perhaps it is our fear that projects her influence on everything that happens, like the mind retrospectively assigning reason to our actions, so we fit whatever occurs into the neatest pattern we can and declare her web both intricate and complete.

But, the mind of the dreamer affects the dream, so perhaps she wasn't weaving her own web, but the fear of her weaving her web made it so she could and did! Aaaa I love this podded cast!

Or perhaps I am simply telling you what you need to hear in order to behave exactly as the Mother wishes you to. Perhaps I have never even seen a beach.

THAT ENDING!!! OH WOW THATS A GREAT ENDING!! I LOVE IT SO MUCH! JUST dont dont drop the mic it'll damage it, BUT DO SOMETHING TO A SMILIAR EFFECT!

(Shaken) That was, uh… I d-didn’t like that. I couldn’t…

Fuck, dude, he really is shaken.

Ahhh it's only going to get... worse.

I can’t say I’m sad to have another ally allegedly on our side, but I don’t like the idea of being important to The Web. That’s a really bad place to be.

IT SURE IS! Aaaaaa... :(

Annabelle’s right, though. I mean, I can’t trust anything she says to not be another lie to further manipulate and manoeuvre us, but deep down, I think she’s right. What I’ve been doing to these people, it hasn’t been because I was puppeted or controlled or possessed. I wanted to do it. It felt good. But at least I know I can stop. I just... don’t know how. I don’t want to stop.

Hey, I mean! Good for him right, he has all these people around him to help! They're going to be nice about it and not threaten him with murder, right!

Right?

No but, I mean, I'm not really, I don't really feel right talking about this, I don't have any experience related to it, I'm just pointing to it. Great words! Yeah!

Well, that's been a little ramble! Hope you enjoyed the cat picture if nothing else. He really is the light of my life. See y'all tomorrow I guess?

[a-mag-a-day]

MAG 69 - nice - Folding laundry

Of course, it's a Web episode and it starts with Martin.

MARTIN "No but she’s pretty private with that stuff. Not like Tim." - Tim going on and on about his dates and/or hook-ups is canon.

Jon immediately getting defensive when Martin mentions Tim and Martin begging Jon to just talk to Tim. I'm guessing Tim and Martin are talking about this, Martin being the caregiver and Tim being pretty open (except for his brother and his whole history with the Stranger).

JON "Ironically, I think working is all Tim and I can do together." - Meaning they also had a non-work-related relationship? I mean, we don't know, but they were both in research and Jon asked for Tim (and Sasha) as assistant, so that at least implies that Jon did know him to some extent, that he said "I wanna continue working with this dude". I really like to see them both as friends before all this shit started, even if Tim was a bit salty about Jon getting the Head Archivist position instead of Sasha.

MARTIN "Look. Jon… when was the last time we all just talked? Just talked, without all of this –" - And so they did talk non-work-related stuff before all went to hell? Did they go to the pub together? I like to think it was like that. S1 Archives Crew <3

MARTIN "He’s not wrong, you know." - Not wrong about what?

I love Jonny's way of introducing a story like "I'm gonna vaguely talk about that thing that happened without ever saying what happened or I'm giving you one horrible detail that came out of all this, just to make everyone curious"

"And when I started to see more and more spiders around the lab, I turned the very real sense of unease into the… the fun sort of fear, like I was just playing at being scared. It’s so strange, even when you’re really looking for horror, it’s impossible to actually believe it. It always feels like something you made up. Just having a bit of fun scaring yourself. Because those things don’t happen. Not in the real world." - This speaks to me very much.

"but I know ESP research when I’m mopping its floors." - Well, I don't so I'm googling it xD (Is the term generally known in native English speaking?), Let's see, what we've got there "ESP has been defined as ‘anomalous processes of information or energy transfer, processes such as telepathy… that are currently unexplained in terms of known physical or biological mechanisms’" (https://www.bps.org.uk/psychologist/extra-sensory-perception-controversial-debate)

"Not that I minded, of course; I love that crap." - I do love that crap too. But I actually mind it very much in the real world, especially when they want to justify it in the medical field. All this pseudoscience mumbo-jumbo like energy medicine is potentially dealing with persons who seriously need medical attention and those Charlatans gonna send them home like nothing's wrong. This is highly dangerous.

"I’m a horror nut but I generally tend toward the more sci-fi end. Demons and ghosts have never really got me but give me aliens or the sinister powers of the human mind and I am there." - Funny, I'm very much the opposite. I mean, I AM a horror nut! But I like supernatural horror the most. Sci-fi yes, but it depends. Alien (the movie, not Aliens as monsters), yes! The Thing, I mean come on, of course! Annihilation (this one has also has cosmic horror tho), Life, Underwater (Hmm… there's a pattern of inescapability). Interesting that a lot of movies, that I would count more as cosmic horror than sci-fi (Bird Box, The Endless, The Mist, Color Out of Space… ok, that got "space" in it) are categorized as sci-fi horror. Hm… Maybe I do like sci-fi horror more than I thought and it's just sci-fi-sci-fi which I don't like? I'm definitely fed up on Christian religious/demon movies for the next few years tho, that is getting old… So yeah, just my… thought for the day! XDD

"The subject’s name was Annabelle Cane." - On my first listen I couldn't focus and barely followed the plot. So naturally I totally missed Annabelle being introduced in this episode.

"I’m sure you can guess what I ended up cleaning more and more of over the course of the study. Cobwebs." - I wonder if you could kind of see this part of a subtle hint, that no cobwebs in TMA ever are a coincident.

"I can still remember her face as she told me that Annabelle had apparently reported having several unsettling dreams about spiders. Notably, at no point in the experiment had she been informed that it was spiders being used." - I wouldn't be too sure about that being a sign of "telepathy" as the statement-giver just told us, that he saw more and more cobwebs in the building and sometimes spiders scuttling away to hide. Annabelle easily could have seen them as well.

"She dressed like a vintage clothing store exploded on her" - lol

"every one of the other participants in that study, Dr. Bates’ so-called “projectors”, have also disappeared. I cannot help but wonder how many cobwebs might be found in their old homes." - Just a year ago he laughed about Carlos Vittery and now he's saying stuff like this xD S1 Jon was fun at times.

Aw man, Jon sounds so sad in the supplemental part..

"I should ask the others for help but I… I can’t. At best, they’d just try to talk me out of it. At worst… No, I… if I’m going down there, I go alone. I should just leave it." - He wants to be with the others. But he knows he burned that bridge with at least Tim and probably (Not!)Sasha as well and I'm guessing he is very much still paranoid having the Not!Them around.

"But I can’t not know." - When my spouse listened to this he laughed and said "Ha, he's just like you!" Yeah, thanks :/

I feel ESP research and experimentation is probably much more common in a reality that hosts supernatural horror, even if it's not a universally known fact, it still lurks underneath everything, making people more inclined to study it and create with it as inspiration. In the same way I feel the horror genre is probably more prevalent in that kind of world as well

[cuttoothed]

Fic for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "Healing & Recovery". We've all been saying jmart need a lot of therapy after the finale, so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I have never been to couple's therapy. I have done some reading on it, but this is not intended in any way to accurately reflect real world therapy practices. Please just assume that anything "off" is due to the way couple's therapy is practiced in AU-land (though of course feel free to let me know if you spot anything egregious).

*

“Why don’t you start,” Judith suggests, “By telling me about the incident?”

The two men on the sofa give her identical startled looks, as if she’s uncovered something incriminating. Martin seems to regain his composure first; he clears his throat, and his hand moves to cover Jon’s, unconsciously protective.

“Sorry, wh-what do you mean by “incident”?”

“For most couples who come to see me, there’s an...inciting incident,” Judith explains. “Something that makes them realize they could use some professional support to work through things. Of course any couple can benefit from seeing a therapist together on occasion, to deal with small issues before they become big ones. But, well, it’s the same way that everyone knows they should go for regular check ups with their GP rather than waiting until they actually get sick—it’s just not something most people get around to until they need it.”

She pauses to give them time to consider that, and after a moment Jon nods, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Right,” he says. “That’s, ah, I think that’s fair.”

“There are pretty strong extenuating circumstances, though,” Martin huffs defensively. “We didn’t exactly have the option for therapy in the a—wh-where we lived before.”

“It’s not intended as a criticism,” Judith tells him. “You’ve chosen to talk to a therapist, and that’s a big step—one that many people never take. You’re ahead of the curve, Martin.”

Martin looks mollified at that; he’s clearly a bit touchy about perceived criticisms of their relationship, and Judith doesn’t want to get him on the defensive. She gives them both an encouraging smile.

“So,” she says. “Is there an incident you’d like to talk about?”

The two of them look at each other expectantly, as if each is waiting for the other to start. After several long moments of silence, Jon raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Martin sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “So, we, uh, we recently realized that our...garden was a-a bit of a mess. So we—Jon and I—we get together with our...housemates, to figure out what kind of flowers we should plant. Fuschias or—or hydrangeas. ”

He pauses to glance nervously at Jon, who gives him a reassuring nod, squeezing his hand.

Right, Judith thinks, This is probably not about flowers.

“We agree we all want fuschias,” Martin continues, “Except Jon—he wanted hydrangeas. But we took a vote, and it was fuschias.”

“Except of course most of our—our housemates weren’t there for that meeting,” Jon interjects, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, but we agreed we couldn’t wait to ask every single person,” Martin says sharply, back on the defensive. Jon’s brow furrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, but he changes his mind and shuts it again. Conflict aversion is one of the most common dysfunctions Judith sees in the couples she treats; very few people want to disagree with the person they love, and even fewer know how to have a constructive conflict. She makes a mental note of it for later.

“Go ahead, Martin,’ she suggests gently. Martin looks unhappy, but continues.

“So we agree to plant the fuschias the next day, but Jon—Jon sneaks out in the middle of the night and starts, uh, planting hydrangeas. Without telling anyone.”

Without telling me, Judith hears in his hurt tone. Jon’s arms are still folded, and he’s almost squirming in his seat with the effort to not interject; Judith decides it’s a good time to invite him into the story.

“Jon, why did you feel so strongly about the hydrangeas?”

“It’s—it wasn’t that I wanted hydrangeas, I just couldn’t a-accept the idea of—of fuchsias.”

“Couldn’t allow it, you mean,” Martin grumbles. Judith lets it pass and continues to focus on Jon.

“Why is that?”

“They, uh, they spread…” Jon waves his hands vaguely. “Their—their...roots? They would get into the, uh, the neighbors’ gardens, completely take over, destroy everything.”

“Potentially,” Martin insists. “There was no guarantee—”

“There was no reason they wouldn’t,” Jon snaps.

By now Judith is not only sure that this has nothing to do with gardening, but suspects that neither of these men has ever seen a fuchsia in their lives. It’s fine, though. This is far from the first time a client has invented a story out of whole cloth so they can work through something uncomfortable without actually describing it. And this is their first session; Judith hopes in the future they’ll trust her enough to give her the real story.

“Remember,” she tells them. “We’re not here to decide that someone was objectively right or wrong, we’re here to help you understand each other and improve your communication skills.”

“Right,” Martin mutters, unconvinced. Jon’s expression is distressed, but he continues.

“There was no other choice,” he says wearily. “The only other option was—was azaleas, and I know you didn’t want that, Martin.”

“Absolutely not.” Martin sounds horrified. “But hydrangeas, Jon? Do you really think that was a better option?”

“You have to see the difference.” Jon’s tone goes stiff and incredulous, as if he’s winding up for a lecture, and Judith decides to cut that off before it starts.

“So what I’m hearing,” she says, “Is that you both had very strong, conflicting opinions on this topic. And that’s okay—it’s okay for you to disagree, even on something important. You’re not always going to agree on what the right thing to do is. Often there is no single “right thing,” so it comes down to how the different choices make us feel.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to make a decision that affects the wh—a lot of people.” Jon clearly considers that his opinion on not-flowers was the objectively correct one. Judith smiles.

“People aren’t computers, Jon. Even the most logical minded person in the world is influenced by their feelings—about important issues, about other people. You’d be surprised at how much of our decision making is rooted in emotion; either how we anticipate the outcome of our decision will make us feel, or how we are feeling in the immediate moment of the choice.”

A spasm of something that might be grief or pain flashes across Jon’s face, and he leans unconsciously in Martin’s direction. Martin’s arm instantly goes around him, offering comfort without thought. It’s clear that these two love each other deeply, unquestioningly—and that’s also part of the problem. When someone you love thinks that you’re wrong about something that’s important to you, it can feel like a rejection of your entire self.

“I’d like to pause this discussion for now, and try a little exercise,” she says. Jon nods, sitting back up and disengaging from Martin’s embrace; Martin looks attentively at her, though his expression is unsure.

“One of the biggest challenges we face with people we love is recognizing that they are separate from us. I know—” she says, raising her hands to stop the objections she can already see forming on their lips. “Of course you know that you’re separate people. We all know that, rationally. But emotionally, it’s natural to see the people you’re close to as extensions of yourself—it’s an evolutionary impulse to aid group bonding. It happens with friends and family, and it’s an even stronger impulse between partners.

“We have to do a lot of work to truly internalize the idea that the people we love have their own inner emotional lives that drive their opinions and decisions. But once you are able to fully grasp that truth, it makes disagreeing with the person you love feel less emotionally fraught; it’s a powerful tool for navigating conflict constructively.”

Jon is frowning, but it’s in consideration rather than disapproval. Martin still looks skeptical, his body language defensive, though he doesn’t say anything. That’s probably the best she’s going to get for now, Judith thinks.

“So,” she says. “The exercise is this: I’d like each of you to take a few moments to think, and then tell the other person something about yourself. Not a fact, but something that you feel. And I would like you to listen without interrupting when your partner tells you their feeling. Can you each do that?”

“I, ah—” Jon’s frown deepens. “That’s...rather difficult to do on demand.”

“I know,” says Judith with sympathy. “That’s why I’m here, to support you both in doing the difficult things. If it was easy, you wouldn’t need a therapist to facilitate.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Okay.”

“Martin?”

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. Judith gets it; vulnerability is hard enough in front of someone you love, never mind with a stranger in the room. It’s easier to pretend that it’s pointless, that you’re not really putting yourself out there to be hurt. She has the feeling that Martin is someone who would rather avoid being hurt, even if it means closing himself off.

“All right,” she says. “When you’re ready, Jon, would you mind going first? No rush, take all the time you need.” Hopefully, seeing Jon take the first step might help Martin get over some of his defensiveness.

“Oh,” he says, and for a few moments his expression devolves into one of intense concentration. Then he nods, turning towards Martin.

“Start with “I feel”,” Judith suggests.

“All right,” he says, breathless with nerves. “I, uh, I feel...responsible. For—well, for everything, basically. And for everyone. Bad things have happened to people, and it’s my fault, because I should have done something. Everything that happened, back there, it was all because of me.”

“It wasn’t you, Jon!” Martin protests. “Annabelle told us—”

Judith is about to remind him that he’s supposed to just be listening, but he cuts himself off first. Jon laughs, an ugly sound that’s more like a sob.

“And how is that supposed to help? Knowing that the—that they were using me my whole life, how does that absolve me of any responsibility for what I did? For the fact that I failed to do anything to stop them? I couldn’t even go through with the one thing that could have actually meant something, because—”

He clamps his mouth shut, his jaw locked tight; Martin looks down at his hands, his expression distraught.

“Because of me.”

“Martin—” Jon’s tone is wounded, and he reaches for Martin’s hand. Judith sees reflections of a shared pain in both their faces, though she doesn’t understand why; this would be a lot easier if they’d just tell her the truth.

But you didn’t get into this profession because it was easy, did you?

“Thank you for sharing that, Jon. I think there’s a lot more for us to explore there, but let’s give you a break and give Martin a chance to share, okay?”

Jon nods, clutching Martin’s hand in his. Martin gives a long, slow exhale.

“Righto,” he says with false, brittle cheer. “”I feel,” wasn’t it? Right. Jon, when you do something stupidly self-sacrificing for other people, I feel like everyone else is more important than me.”

Jon flinches.

“Martin,” Judith says, keeping her tone level. “Let’s keep the focus on what you feel, not on what causes you to feel that way, okay?”

“Right,” Martin mutters, and glances at Jon. “Okay. In that case, I feel...like I’m not important. Like the only thing I can really do is—is take care of you. And if I can’t even do that, then what bloody use am I? That’s it, I suppose.”

“Martin…” Jon says again, softly. His eyes are wet, and he’s clinging to Martin’s hand like a drowning man to a plank. Martin swallows hard and shakes his head, but he makes no move to extract his hand from Jon’s grip.

“Thank you, Martin,” Judith tells him. “I know that wasn’t easy to share, for either of you. But this is the kind of honesty that we need, in order to build strong communication. Let’s all take five minutes—if either of you want to take a bathroom break, or get some water—and then we can talk about where to go from here. All right?”

Martin disappears to the loo, while Jon wanders around the office, looking with polite interest at the shelves of books and ornaments. Judith writes a few notes for herself, to follow up in future sessions. She hopes there’ll be future sessions. Both of these men seem deeply hurt, traumatized by events that they’re just barely alluding to, and have clearly been struggling through as best they can with less than ideal coping mechanisms, trying—and likely failing—not to hurt each other in the process. They both need individual counselling as much as couples’ therapy—maybe more. She’s certainly going to recommend it..

They clearly love each other, though. And they want to make it work. If they’re willing to put the effort in, they have better than even odds in their favor.

Martin’s eyes are red-rimmed when he returns; he sits on the sofa as near as he can to Jon, who presses their shoulders together. Judith can’t help smiling at the sight.

“How long have the two of you been together?” she asks. She always asks new clients at the end of the first session, rather than at the beginning; that way she can get a feel for the relationship without preconceptions based on longevity. The two of them look at each other properly, for the first time since Martin came back in, and matching, sheepish smiles break out on both their faces after a moment.

“So it was three weeks in Scotland,” Martin begins, ticking it off on his fingers. “And then—how long?”

“Uhh, it’s...let’s say half a year, give or take?” Jon makes a face that says he’s really not all that sure.

“Right, and then we’ve been here nearly six months. So...about a year, all in all?”

“But we knew each other for over three years before that,” Jon insists earnestly.

“It sounds as if the two of you have been through a lot,” says Judith. “And not all of it gardening related?”

“No,” Jon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Mostly not.”

“We barely scratched the surface today—and that’s normal. Relationships are complicated, and it takes a lot of time and hard work to build understanding and communication. But I promise you, it is worth all the effort. You both made a really strong start today—it takes courage to be that honest, even with your partner.”

The two of them give each other a long look, and the smile they trade is tentative, but genuine. They haven’t solved anything today, have only just begun to reveal their hurt and their insecurities; they have a long journey ahead to get to a truly honest, healthy place both for themselves and their relationship. Judith has a feeling they’ll persevere, though—that losing each other simply isn’t an option.

“So,” she says, “Should we make this a recurring appointment?”

Jon glances questioningly at Martin, who bites his lip and then nods firmly, taking Jon’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “We’ve done much harder things. We can do this.”

“Together?” says Jon, and Martin smiles.

“No matter what.”

[summersnow82]

Somethin' Bad - Part 14

Author's Note: Thank you for sticking with me, lovelies. It's been a busy season for my family, and I wanted to try my hand at the Fictober challenge. I've got a clear vision for the rest of this story, but I'm unsure how long it will be. I do know this - our boy will have a happy ending. I hope you'll stick around.

This is the song Annabelle sings in this chapter. Frank Sinatra and Julie London have beautiful renditions, too.

Part 14

Travis knew there was something wrong as he parked his car in front of his family home. The lights were all out, and the front door was ajar. He unholstered his gun and his flashlight, cautiously stepping into the house. Every fiber of his being was screaming to call out to his family, but he kept quiet, moving silently through his childhood home.

The smell hit him when he entered the kitchen – death and blood. It was a smell he’d come to know well over the past six years. He saw Bobby first, his hulking mass in the middle of the room. His father lay a few feet away the wolf tearing into his stomach. It whirled, the muzzle dripping blood as it snarled at Travis.

“It’s your fault, Travis.” His mother’s voice called from the corner of the room, and he could see her golden eyes before she ever moved. “You should’ve been here. If you’d been here none of this would’ve happened.”

The wolf took a step towards Travis, but he couldn’t move. His eyes were locked on his mother.

“You have always been a disappointment to me, boy. Never shoulda had ya. Shoulda killed ya the day you were born. All you’ve ever done is fail this family.”

Those golden eyes were moving closer. The wolf in front of him took another step.

His hands were shaking so badly the flashlight’s beam danced around the room.

“Worthless. Pathetic. Good for nothing.”

He couldn’t catch his breath.

Behind him, he heard a snarl. His feet remained frozen to the ground.

“Travis.” It was barely a whisper, but he heard it. Soft, gentle. “Travis.”

“You listen to me, boy….”

“Shhhhh. It’s all right. You’re safe.”

The snarling behind him went silent.

“I will not have another whore try to ruin this family!”

“Shhhh, Travis, shhhh.”

His hands had gone still. His breathing calmed.

“Fly me to the moon, and let me play upon the stars. Let me see what Spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”

“Don’t you listen to her, boy.”

The wolf in front of him shrank back into the shadows.

“In other words, hold my hand. In other words, darling, kiss me. Fill my heart with song, and let me sing forevermore.”

“TRAVIS!” His mother’s voice was desperate now.

“You are all I long for. All I worship, and adore. In other words, please be true.”

“...Travis...”

“In other words, I love you.”

Travis closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was standing by the lake. The moon was full, the stars were bright, and for once he didn’t feel afraid. “Took you long enough.”

He turned, catching his breath. Evelyn was standing on the dock the same sapphire blue ball gown she’d worn to their prom. Her hair was piled high on her head, ringlets floating around her neck. “Evie?” He breathed.

She grinned, closing the distance between them. She reached up to fix his tie, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “I missed you, too.”

“I’m dreaming.” He said the words slowly, afraid the revelation would make her disappear.

“I’d like to take credit, but…,” she shrugged, smiling as she put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. She began to sway to a song he couldn’t hear, and he followed her movements.

“I miss you.”

She smiled, laying her head on his chest. “You always were a good dancer, Travis Hackett.”

“I should’ve done more. I’m so sorry - ,” she cut him off with a brush of her lips to his.

“You’re a good man, Travis Hackett. You always have been.” He stared down into her slate blue eyes. “Don’t make the same mistake twice, okay?”

“Evie…,” he breathed her name, pulling her close, hugging her so she couldn’t disappear.

“Promise me.”

“Evie….”

“...promise...”

Travis heard the birds before his eyes ever opened. He blinked, rubbing his eyes as his body slowly woke up. He was in his house on his couch. His TV was still on, muted now, and “Bonanza” was playing. At the end of the couch, curled up with her head angled against the back cushions was Annabelle. Her dark hair was loose, a wild mop of hair, and she was wearing his old blue plaid cotton robe. Her legs rested against his own, a warm dark green blanket covering them both.

He stared at her as the memory of his nightmare and dream came flooding back. Bits and pieces were fleeting, but he remembered enough, and in the light of morning he knew who pulled him away from the wolves.

--------------------------

They fell into a pattern, Travis and Annabelle. He’d wake to find her curled at the end of the couch or lying on the floor next to him, wisps of a broken nightmare lingering as he took in the sleeping brunette. He felt equally elated and terrified at the growing warmth and affection he felt for the time traveler, and, by extension, her best friend.

Each morning, Travis would tuck her into the couch, covering her with the dark green blanket. He’d get ready for work, make coffee, and leave her a simple, noncommittal note.

Be back at lunch. - T

He found himself whistling more, nodding at the townsfolk, even conversing with Sean more easily. The blonde was, in fact, a genius. He’d covered half a dozen legal pads in notes and equations in a math Travis could never hope to comprehend. A mixture of theory and science, Sean was working through time travel and werewolf problems in a way Travis had never seen anyone else process. It was beginning to stir ancient feelings akin to hope in Travis’ heart. Maybe they could finally be free from this wretched curse.

“I’m beginning to feel guilty keeping him in there,” Travis admitted one afternoon over lunch. He’d come home to find Annabelle freshly washed, donning another of his shirts, her hair always in a braid. Lunch would normally be ready, and he’d note some small change or improvement to the house. He never mentioned any of it; if this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up, and if this was reality, he wanted to enjoy every moment before it inevitably shattered down around him.

“Don’t,” Annabelle replied, offering him half of an apple. He took it with only a hint of resignation – she was determined to get proper nutrition in him. “If Sean didn’t want to be there, he wouldn’t be.” Travis snorted, and she ignored it. She kept saying things like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Maybe they genuinely were time travelers with a penchant for the supernatural, and several tricks up their sleeves, but so far, Travis hadn’t seen any of it. The only supernatural aspects he could place in Annabelle and Sean was their ability to put up with his nonsense in the kindest, most understanding way.

“Look,” Annabelle said, sitting down next to him, her knees barely brushing his own. “Sean’s mind is like a Rubix cube. It takes a while to click and lock all the pieces into place, and it takes a good deal of concentration to do it. Believe it or not, he’s probably getting more work done in there than we are out here.” Travis searched her eyes, still having difficulty accepting her answer.

“We’d better get going,” he finally said, tearing his eyes from hers. “He’ll wonder where his lunch is.” Travis arched an eyebrow in a manner that was almost playful. “He still gets hungry, doesn’t he?”

She grinned, moving to grab the lunch she’d packed for Sean. “I was actually going to stay here today, if you don’t mind. I had some things I wanted to get done around here.” Travis frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but she shushed him with a wave of her hand. “I know, I know. Prisoner, trust, blah, blah, blah, but I have laundry to do and a pot roast I want to get done for supper.”

Travis’ expression dropped as fast as his heart leapt in his chest. Is this what married life is like? Is this… he searched for the word, constantly circling round to bliss. He was still in a dumbfounded state as she led him to the front door, handing him Sean’s lunch as she opened the door, and ushered him outside. “Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow,” she said, smiling.

His mouth opened once, closed, and then opened again. This was bliss. It had to be. Domestic bliss, boring, everyday, normal bliss. A beautiful woman seeing him off to work with an adoring smile, and a bagged lunch.

He didn’t mean to kiss her; he’d told himself the next time – if there was a next time – he would ask first. He’d take his time, be gentle, slow, and savor each moment instead of letting passion consume him. Instead, he was leaning in as a reflex, grazing his lips across her own as a way to say goodbye. The way he’d always imagined it. The way he’d always dreamed of it happening.

Her eyes fluttered open, a soft blush dusting her features as she blinked back to reality. “Be safe,” he murmured, before turning to head to his cruiser. The words Evie said to him every time they parted, including the last when she’d been heartbroken and sobbing. Be safe. Travis closed his eyes at the thought, breathing in deeply before turning the key in the ignition. If this was what happiness felt like he never wanted to let it go.

----------------

Constance Hackett came from a long line of strong women; the kind of women who ruled their home with an iron fist. The men in their family knew better than to draw their hand back at a woman – it would be the last thing they did, and no lawman would ever find them. So when she heard from the town gossip Travis had been seen with a young woman – “a pretty, young thing,” she’d said – Constance knew she would have to put an end to that.

Chris had chosen wisely – a passive, meek little thing too small to be a threat. The doctor had warned her against another baby, but Constance insisted. After all, a good woman does her wifely duty.

Sweet Bobby, well, he wasn’t the marrying kind. Too dependent on his mama after his service injury.

...but Travis. Oh, Travis. He got this foolhardy idea in his head once in awhile that he could replace his mother with some common tramp. That was fine; after all, he was still her boy, and he still needed to be taught a lesson now and again. She’d done a fine job running off the last little hussy, and she could do it again.

“Pa,” she called to Jedediah after hanging up the landline. “Get the truck. We’re heading into town.”

[dalekofchaos]

It wasn’t all Micah’s fault, Dutch is as much to blame.

A lot of people seem to think that Micah being the rat is what led to the fall of the Van der Linde gang. While it’s true that Micah is partly to blame. But Micah would not have an opportunity if it were not for Dutch’s vanity and pride.

Dutch is the classic delusional leader seen in many stories, novels. His fantasies become more real with each day, battle and somehow they think fortune is right around the corner. Like a gambler chasing the eternal big pot. No amount of money would ever be enough. It wasn't about money. It's was about the chase, the illusion of victory that never comes.

In Chapter 6 is when this all becomes more apparent. A switch went off in Dutch's mind, in Ch6. This wasn't the way HIS story was supposed to happen. Not to HIM. He's freaking Don Quixote, madman fighting knights in his mind and being a hero. It's fucking beautiful character writing and story arc for him.

Dutch has a discarded speech draft in horseshoe overlook that shows he’s always been a self-obsessed politician in context of the gang. He crosses out every line of humility and replaces it with narcissistic martyrdom, and avoids ever giving his audience a moment to question him or the path they’re on. He wants control over people so he can use them to realize his ambitions, and every book he reads in camp has a similar motif that explains why he thinks that way.

There are conversations between Lenny and Dutch, too. Lenny is not a fan of Evelyn Miller and tells Dutch why. Dutch is blind to the criticism. This speaks volumes about the two characters. This conversation made me realize that Dutch is used to peddling his philosophy to people who are not as well read as him; the moment he has to defend his ideas to someone more intelligent he gets defensive and angry. Because he isn't searching for a debate; he's searching for affirmation.

Everyone loves to paint Dutch and Hosea as the perfect partners and even ship them in a gay way. But Dutch doesn’t respect Hosea? Also Hosea was a happily married man. They're supposed to be partners, but he certainly doesn't treat him like one. He doesn't listen to him, he yells at him when he's doubting, coughing or in pain, and he makes him sleep on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He even openly ignores him in Colter, in front of the other men, and rides off when he tries to stop him from robbing Cornwall's train. I'm not saying they don't have a rich history or good moments, but it's a toxic relationship at best. Not exactly something worth praising. If you don't believe me, you can find unique dialogues as the game progresses, verifying he’s lost all faith in Dutch. To the point that he even starts telling other members to leave. Abigail, John, Arthur, Lenny, Tilly, Sadie -- he tells all of them to leave. During a dominoes game we played together he even said, "Maybe it's just me, but Dutch seems to be getting more and more unhinged." And as early as chapter one he told Arthur, "Try to stop Dutch getting all of you killed, because I'm about beginning to think he's finally lost his mind." There are also other conversations where Hosea’s disappointment with Dutch is far more blatant. He basically tells Arthur he’s been disillusioned for a while and wishes the gang would change, but when Arthur asks what they’d do instead of thieving, Hosea says, “I don’t know. I never knew. Guess I could never figure that out, neither.” By this point he’s just so dejected and defeatist because he knows Dutch won’t listen to him. He also goes on a whole tirade about how they’ve become “nothing but a bunch of killers”, which breaks his heart, and during a random campfire encounter he bares his soul and flat out tells the gang he no longer believes in Dutch’s “we’re above the law” philosophy. I feel like Dutch is glad Hosea was killed because the biggest doubter and thorn in his side was taken care of.

I mean this is what Hosea feels about the majority of Dutch’s plans

The moment John put his family as a priority, Dutch saw this as a threat and has been paranoid about John ever since. 

He tried to play the Grays, Braithewaites and Bronte  the same way he’s used Arthur, Hosea, John, Bill, Javier, and even his women like Molly, Susan and Annabelle. To Dutch, people are just set pieces in his life. He cares for them and wants them to love him, but it’s only because he’s a narcissist that needs their support to make himself stronger.

He never snapped or went crazy or turned. The Dutch that drowned Bronte is the same Dutch that had always been there. He was frustrated that he did not have the upper hand on somebody, that someone had played him the same way he plays others, and it’s probably the same reason he shot a girl in cold blood on the ferry and the same reason he shot the girl in the bank in rdr1. In that scene in rdr1, he said something like “you’re the master now John” before Dutch did what he did.

When Dutch isn’t in control, he rages against the world around him. Because as far as he’s concerned, he’s the smartest and most virtuous man around and anyone who opposes him is wrong. And anytime he loses or isn’t completely in control, somebody’s out to get him and play him like a fool. That’s why he turns on Arthur and John, and why Micah manipulates him so easily

Blackwater, going up against Cornwall, playing the inbred families and Bronte is what sealed the gang's fate.

Blackwater. If Dutch had just ignored the ferry job and let Hosea and Arthur handle their Blackwater real estate/tax scam, then they would have made it big with no one dying

If Dutch had just ignored the O'Driscolls and their train heist plans, then Cornwall would have went after Colm O'Driscoll while Dutch and the gang could have either went to Horseshoe without incident or gotten lost out West. Don’t forget it was Hosea who was against robbing that train back in chapter 1 that belonged to Leviticus Cornwall. It was after that robbery when he started sponsoring Pinkertons to find Dutch. If they stayed away from that train, they could’ve shaken off the Pinkertons easily. Hosea was right from the very start. Even before that he was saying that Blackwater robbery was a bad idea.

If Dutch or Hosea put their foot down and requested Herr Straus to stop loansharking desperate people or risk being banished from the gang, then maybe Arthur would still be alive

If they requested the aid of Trelwany to see if the rumor of Confederate gold is legit or not, then they could've realized playing one or the other family was a complete waste of time and not worth the effort.

The moment they got Jack from Bronte, they should have just left Lemoyne and never looked back.

The moment Arthur began helping the Wapiti tribe, he should have never went back to Dutch. Arthur, Charles, Sadie and John should have helped them and never looked back. John would’ve gotten Abigail and Jack out alive, while from some convincing from Arthur, Uncle and Susan would have helped Mary-Beth, Tilly and Pearson leave the gang. 

Even if everything turned out the way it did but Hosea, Lenny and Sean were alive, the gang would be split. Hosea, Susan, Lenny and Sean would have sided with Arthur. There would have been a chance that Hosea and Arthur could have talked sense into Dutch, but Dutch would not want to see that he fucked up royally and costed EVERYTHING, he would stand by the choices he made, even if it meant fighting his own brother and sons.

But no, Dutch needs to feel like this big and important leader. He needs one last take. It wasn't about money, it was wanting to prove that he won and just wanting to be the big man, like Evelyn Miller or all the outlaws that are romanticized. Micah saw him for what he was and was playing him like a fiddle and milking him for all he's worth. It was so easy for Micah to play Dutch and so easy for Arthur Hosea, Sean, Lenny, Susan, Davey, Mac and Jenny to die for the sake of Dutch proving that he is a winner and that he is right. It was never about getting lost out west or even the money or even Tahiti, it was about Dutch wanting to prove he is right and all the doubters are wrong.

Dutch Van der Linde’s pride and ego is what destroyed the gang. Even if Milton did not kill Hosea, there was no stopping Dutch’s path of self-destruction.

[happys-crazy-queen22]

Always On Our Minds

Gif credit @gottaboopthesnoot

Requested on wattpad

Taglist @nocturnalherb16 @jesseswartzwelder. @writerwithasoul.

WARNING: MISCARRIAGE IS THE THEME. CAUTION WHEN READING.

It's a very sad fic. So read carefully. I cried when writing it.

__________________________________

"Put your coat on, buddy. It's chilly out". Jay helped his seven year old so, Wesley into his coat. They were waiting by the door for you. It was family date night and the four of you were going to a restaurant.

"Babe, hurry. Our reservation is a six. It's five thirty". Jay called down the hall. You were sitting on the edge of the bed in pain. Your stomach feeling like it's being ripped open. You were currently six and a half months pregnant. So this was a new feeling you've had. The pain was beginning to get unbearable to even sit there.

"Jay". You yelled, gripping onto the bed frame.

"What's wrong? You okay"? Jay asked running in. He stopped when he saw the blood dripping down the bed seeping onto the floor. You didn't feel it running down your legs.

"Y/N. Oh god". Jay stood there in fear. Both of your worst nightmares came true. "We have to get you to a hospital". He carefully picked you up bridal style and carried you to the car. Your son sat in the back seat with you, holding your hand. You tried not to squeeze him to hard. But if you did he didnt show it.

Luckily your brother n law, Will was on shift and met you outside with a gurnee. The look on his face was troubling. He knew it was to late by the look on his face.

Will wheeled you back to check you over. Jay stayed with Wesley until someone came to take him home.

"Thanks for coming, I just dont want him here with all this". Jay's hands trembled, little spot of blood traced his hand. He held his son close with tears in his eyes.

"Dad, I want to stay. I dont want to leave mom". His son looked up at him.

"You shouldnt be here. Go with Kevin and Adam. They'll take you to get something to eat and then home. Everythings going to be okay". Jay kissed his sons head and cried, squeezing him tight.

"I'm not leaving. I want to stay. Mom and you need me".

"Please just do as you're told and go home". Jay couldn't bare to tell his son what was going on.

"I'm staying, dad. Please". His sons eyes filled with tears. He already knew.

"Okay. Okay. Do you mind staying here with him"? Jay asked Kevin and Adam.

"No. Go be with Y/N". Just as Kevin said that a nurse rushed over and grabbed Jay by the arm.

"I love you". Jay said before the swinging doors closed.

Jay walked with the nurse down the hall, it was quiet. Until he got to your room. There was chattering and beeping. Grunting and muffled screams.

"Get in here, Y/N needs you". The nurse pushed Jay into the room.

You were in labor to have your child.

Jay took a deep breath and went by your side. He held your hand and kissed your sweaty forehead as you pushed. Tears running down both of your cheeks.

Soon all the pain and pushing was over. All the commotion stopped. Nurses left and Will stayed. This was supposed to be a joyous moment but turned into the darkest day you have ever seen. Will handed you your tiny still baby in your arms.

Jay and you wanted the gender to be a surprise. It was a little girl. That you both wanted so badly. She was so fragile. So tiny and beautiful.

Jay and you both sobbed uncontrollably as you held her. Life wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to grow up and learn to walk. Go to school and play. Her little laugh filling your ears. But that wont happen. She was so easily taken away with a blink of an eye.

"I'm so sorry, Jay. I'm so sorry". You felt guilty. This was your fault , all your fault. No one elses. How could you have let this happen? You were supposed to protect her in this world and you couldn't even protect her in your body.

"It's not your fault. Dont you dare blame yourself. You did nothing wrong. It just wasn't meant to be. But she is still our little girl and we love her so freaking much". Jay sobbed into your shoulder. He didnt blame you at all. He knew things like this happened but he never thought it would happen to his family. He thought he was invincible. But life was throwing curve balls his way.

"What should we name her"? You sniffled as you gazed at her. Pushing the blanket back to see her face.

"Annabel Grace Halstead". Jay didnt hesitate with the name. It was the one you two were set on and he didn't want to change that.

"Annabel, mommy and daddy love you so much. We wanted you here so badly that you wont ever know. I love you with all my heart". Your whole body and soul sobbed, clutching your daughter.

"Tell pop pop to watch over you until we get there. He'll tell you stories about your old dad". Jay said with no emotion trying to go without crying. But he broke and he broke hard.

"We should get Wesley here to met his sister". You say, wiping tears away with your hand.

"Hes in the waiting room. He wouldnt go with the guys. I'll get him". Jay sniffled and went to get his son. On the way he broke down in the hall, Will saw and hugged his brother.

Wesley was playing a game on Adam's phone when Jay finally came out. He knew what happened and he ran to Jay hugging him and crying. Jay and you didnt just lose your daughter, Wesley lost his sister.

"Mommy, wants to see you". Jay whispered in Wesley's ear. They turned to go back through the door. Jay didnt have to say anything, Adam and Kevin already knew too.

"Mommy"? Wesley's lip quivered as he came into the room. You put on a half smile. But you were breaking again.

"You want to meet your sister"?

"Yes". Wesley walked up slowly to your bedside. He was nervous and scared. What happens if this gives him nightmares? What if this terrorizes him forever? But he put that behind him. He didnt want to not meet his little sister. He was going to teach her everything he knew. He was going to be a great be brother. No, he is a great big brother.

"She's so small".

"Yeah, but she has a big impact on our hearts". Jay said coming up behind Wesley.

"I'm sorry, mommy". Wesley cried, in your shoulder. Jay faught back tears but lost. You cried even more.

Knowing that time healed all wounds was crap. This was something that your family would never heal from. This tiny little girl brought so much joy in your lives and was suddenly taken away. No one knew why or what caused it. And that was lingering unanswered questions in everyones mind. It will always be there. She will always be there in your hearts, in your mind and in your dreams. She will never be replaced or forgotten. Always on your mind.

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Eric Draven

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I chose to retcon Shelley in this but I wouldn’t be against writing something that involves her character in the future. Hope you enjoy!)

- You first met Eric at a cassette shop some time before his death. By pure coincidence, you’d looked up and met his eye just as he entered the shop. He held your gaze for a moment before you quickly averted your eyes and busied yourself with searching the shelves for the artist you were looking for. 

- A minute or so later, you could feel a presence besides you. When you snuck a glance, you found that it was the same man from before prompting your heart to skip a beat. He was tall, dark, and beautifully alternative. The most perfect man you’d ever seen in real life. 

- Staying quiet, you focused on the task at hand; though it was a bit difficult with him beside you. After a bit of searching, you finally found the cassette you were looking for and pulled it off the shelf, examining it for a quick second.

“I love them.” the mans quiet voice rang out from beside you.

“Pardon?” you’d nearly squeaked, looking up at the mans face which was now glancing down at you.

“Sorry,” he apologized, smiling while shaking his head. “The Cure; I love them. They’re one of my favorites. Have you heard their latest song; ‘Burn’ I think it was. It’s been all over the radio; at least the channels that I listen to.”

- The two of you talked for a long time, hopping from one artist to the next and then from subject to subject. You continued to talk even as you were checking out and leaving the shop. Speaking with him just seemed so natural, so easy.

- The two of you stood outside the door of the shop, neither of you really wanting your conversation to end but knowing that it had to at some point.

- You were just about to say goodbye when he spoke, telling you that his band would be playing at the concert club down the street that night and that he’d be happy to see you there. Now, how could you say no to that?

- So that night, you got a bit dressed up and headed over to the club he told you about. It wasn’t exactly your usual scene but at the time, it seemed worth going to; if only just to see the man again.

- The instant you got there, you could practically feel the music reverberating off the walls as you tried to find an empty place to stand or sit. Glancing at the stage, your eyes immediately found the exact man you were looking for, shredding on his guitar in all his gothic glory.

- Every now and again, you could see his eyes sweep over the crowd before finally finding you, a small smile making its way onto his face. You stayed there until his band played their final song, nearly an hour and a half after you’d arrived.

- Once they left the stage, Eric came over and greeted you, asking you to wait just a minute as he went to put his guitar away. You obliged and soon enough the two of you were sitting together at one of the small tables in the club, trying to talk to each other over the noise.

- Finally, he leaned forward and spoke in your ear, asking if you wanted to go some place. You happily agreed and the two of you found yourselves seated at a small diner which wasn’t too far away from the club.

- The two of you sort of consider this your first date. You sat and talked for hours, sipping coffee and eating. He got delightfully bashful when you complimented his music, looking down at the table with a smile before quickly changing the subject back to you.

- You shared your first kiss in the rain a few nights later after another one of your dates. There was no way of escaping the downpour so you were sort of just forced to run through it until you could find a bit of shelter. By the time you were able to get under something, you were already freezing and soaked, but all you could do was laugh.

“We might as well just keep on walking, huh?” He’d joked and you agreed, stepping back out into the rain and beginning to walk again.

- You were a few steps away from him when you felt his hand on your arm, softly spinning you around so that you were facing him. You looked up at his face, watching the rain fall down from his cheeks and drip from his hair before he pulled you into him and pressed his lips to yours.

- You closed your eyes, kissing back as he wrapped his arms tight around you. It felt like the world around you disappeared, the only signs of it being the constant pitter patter of rain on your skin. Neither of you wanted the moment to end, even as you stood softly shivering.

- The two of you were dating for nearly a year when you got a late night call from the police. After the first few words, you could barely hear what they were saying, it was like the entire world came crashing down around you.

- You’d come to find out that it was a suspected robbery gone bad and that Eric had died. You were inconsolable for months and even a year later, you still felt as though there was a massive hole in your heart that would never be filled. That was when you were confronted with a face from your past.

- It was late one night and you were walking home from work, slightly paranoid as per usual. Apparently your paranoia was there for good reason as a man began to follow closely behind you while you walked. Unbeknownst to you; or him, he wasn’t the only one keeping a close eye on your figure.

- You began walking faster, hoping that it was just a misunderstanding. That hope was soon crushed as the man behind you began to speed up as well.

- Finally, you broke out into a sprint, praying that you could make it to some shop before the man reached you. You could hear him begin to give chase before suddenly, his footsteps just ...disappeared.

- You slowly came to a stop, glancing behind you and finding no one there. Confused, you searched the area, trying to spot the man but still finding nothing. Finally, someone emerged from a nearby alleyway ...but it wasn’t the man from before.

- He was taller with longer hair and odd paint covering his face. He looked vaguely familiar from afar but it was only after he got close enough for you to see his face that you finally recognized him.

“Eric?” You asked in disbelief as he stopped before you.

“I always told you that I didn’t like you walking home alone.” He said softly, a weak smile playing at his painted lips.

- Without another word, you closed the distance between you, your hands shakily reaching up to touch his face, prompting him to close his eyes. His arms wove around you and pulled you into a tight hug, a hug you returned with just as much vigor, afraid that he’d vanish if you didn’t hold on tight enough.

- He was back. Back and here to stay.

- As much as he would love to be touching you at all times, he also doesn't want anyone to see the two of you together. He doesn’t want you somehow being dragged into something because his enemies saw the two of you together or because police believe you’re somehow involved in his revenge plot. So he tries not to interact with you in public, at least not where anyone could catch you. 

- He’s sort of your little secret; a figure that only you notice, a person that only you know exists. It’s hard to stop a small smile from coming onto your face whenever you’re asked about your love life or pressured to get out into the dating scene. If only they knew. 

- Soft caresses. Whenever his hands are on you, they’re; more often than not, being intimate, gentle and loving. You can practically feel his adoration for you in his every touch. 

- Brushing the hair out of his face so you can see and kiss him properly.

- Long, tight hugs.

- Passionate kisses. 

- Having his makeup smeared across your face. He runs a finger across the paint, rubbing his thumb over your lips and calling you beautiful.

- Sitting up late at night with him and stargazing. 

- Waking up to soft kisses. Oftentimes it’s in the middle of the night but you don’t really mind, you just tiredly reach out to him as he takes off his boots and joins you in bed. 

- He opts for more meaningful and romantic nicknames. Things like: Annabel Lee, darling, beloved, angel, my love, my life. 

- Getting poetry and songs written about you. A lot of the time, he’ll leave them for you to find or; if they’re a song, quietly sing them to you in the dark of the night. 

- He likes being held in your arms when you cuddle, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. But he also loves to hold you, wrapping his arms tight around you and cherishing the way you snuggle into him. 

- Eric is absolutely, irrevocably in love with you. You’ve never had a man so infatuated with you and you never will again. Your relationship isn’t the most conventional or normal, but you never doubt for a second that he loves you.

- He can’t stand the thought of you thinking that he doesn’t care. It’s the easiest way to tear him up inside.  

- He’s incredibly sweet with you, always reassuring you with a laugh when you do something wrong, never getting mad at you for your mistakes and always making you feel better when you’re feeling down. 

- Teasing each other, he likes spooking you a bit and overall just making you laugh. 

- He’s still got a good sense of humor. His jokes may be stupid and he may tell you them a hundred times each but you never mind. 

- Dancing together. Sometimes its romantic slow dancing and other times he’ll just break out into a little jig.

- Getting to watch all his gymnastic and athletic skills. He both amazes and amuses you with the things he does. 

- Grand romantic gestures. He’s a hopeless romantic at heart. 

- He used to have warm hands and he resents the fact that they’re always cold now. One of the main reasons he likes to hold your hands is because he can feel your warmth seeping into his skin. 

- A lot of the time, he’ll just show up and/or vanish into thin air. He’s most likely scared you every now and again with the way he just appears in the doorway of your room or knocking at your window. 

- He wants to take care of you whenever he can. Injured, sick, upset; he’s there for you and knows exactly what to do to make you feel better. 

- Trying to help explain everything that happened to him and figure out how he’s back again; and how to keep him that way. 

- He loves the little things about you; something he learned to do while you were together and perfected while he was dead. He could name a million things off the top of his head that you do or about your appearance that he absolutely adores. 

- Having him play the guitar for you. You’ll usually sit behind him, resting your cheek on his back while he strums along, sometimes humming the words to one of his bands songs. 

- Reading gothic literature together. He smiles whenever you tell him he has the perfect voice for it. 

- He loves horror. Anything scary is right up his alley. Horror movies, Halloween, urban legends, scary stories; he loves them all. 

- Taking care of Gabriel for him. The fluffy feline adores you and Eric likes coming home and seeing you curled up with him on the couch or bed. 

- Kissing in the rain and in the dark of the night. 

- He could genuinely sit and talk with you for hours, or just sit with you without saying a word. Just being by your side is enough for him. 

- The two of you tend to stay indoors and enjoy quiet nights in, he liked it even before everything happened to him. He prefers being alone with you with no way to be interrupted. 

- Getting to pet and interact with his crow. The two of you wind up spending a lot of time together. 

- Getting close to and helping take care of Sarah. He loves just sitting back and watching the two of you play around. He’s adorable when he joins in on the fun. 

- He loves how you make him feel normal, always treating him the same as before and making him feel like his old self again just by being with you. 

- Tracing his scars. He sort of likes when you do it, it’s like you’re taking away the memories of that day and replacing them with happy ones. 

- Comforting him when he thinks about his death and looks into your mind to see your memories of life without him. You just wrap yourself around his back and let him feel what he has to. 

- Eric kinda goes feral sometimes. There’s two versions of this Eric: 1) the guy who kills and 2)the guy who’s looking at you with the eyes of a wolf, wanting to eat you alive. Sometimes he’ll just pounce, pulling you into his body and smashing his lips to yours.

- He’s incredibly protective of you. He knows how dangerous your city is and how fragile life can be. He’s determined to make sure nothing ever happens to you; even if it means hurting or killing other people. 

- Because he can’t really be seen with you, he has a bit of a mean streak when it comes to jealousy. If he can, he’ll scare off anyone who he thinks is getting too close to you, threatening them the moment he can get them alone. You’re his and his alone.

- He never gets upset with you. He might have a bit of a temper; particularly after his death, but you’ll never be on the receiving end of it. You very rarely; if ever, fight, the only times he’ll argue or fight with you will when he’s worried about your safety which is something you’ll never hold against him. 

- He’ll never get tired of hearing you say you love him. Oftentimes, he’ll ask you to say “it” again, nuzzling into you while you giggle and repeat yourself. 

- He tells you he loves you constantly, repeating it between kisses, while kissing your forehead, or saying it while gazing deeply into your eyes. It feels so natural for him to say it; there's never any second guessing, it’s the one thing he’s completely sure about in his life. 

- You aren’t sure what will happen to either of you in the future. All you know is that he’ll love you and you’ll love him for the rest of eternity. 

[yellowocaballero]

The Crow’s Funeral Snippet: Jon Gets Involved In Local Politics, Regrets It

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side of the door. 

Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase. 

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt. 

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?” Jon stared blankly at her. “There was an invite?”

“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”

“...of course she did.”  Written for no real reason besides for the fact that I know too much about my own AU and I care about Annabelle. This story takes place both pre- and post- story: six months after Jon enters London, and six months after the events of the story. We talk about childhood/adulthood, stagnancy/growth, good/evil, and the inherent metaphor of a Nintendo DS. Sometimes...found family...is bad. Rest under the cut. 

In the third month, boiling and bubbling over, someone knocked at Jon’s door. 

Not the door to his office. The door to his flat, which had a very large ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign on it, and was always locked. The employees were, granted, Jon and Daisy, but the message was conveyed. Jon saw the sign in stores and copied it, as he copied many aspects of business models. Jon didn’t quite understand how to run a business, but he had read both ‘What they teach you in Harvard Business School’ - whatever a Harvard was - and ‘What they don’t teach you in Harvard Business School’, so he figured he was set. Daisy had also grabbed him a Girl Scout book on starting your own lemonade stand, which helped more than the other two books combined. Harvard Business School could take notes. 

Jon rolled off the bed, where he had been downloading knowledge of string games and trying to figure out how to do them. Omniscence was closer to reading an instruction manual than actually knowing how to do something, but at least that left Jon with plenty of time to learn skills. Even if it wasn’t necessarily his favorite activity - he was bad at a lot of them, which would frustrate him and make him wreck the craft. Daisy kept on saying he needed a hobby other than reading but what did she know, anyway -

Daisy, from where she had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, lifted her head and barked sleepily. 

“I’ll get them to go away,” Jon promised. Or eat them. Maybe just eat them. 

But when Daisy bristled and jumped off the bed, barking heavily, he knew who it was. Jon sighed, hastily shoving a shirt over his head, and undid the three deadbolts before unlocking the door. 

Annabelle, of course, was standing on the other side. Slightly less obviously, she was dressed in a finely tailored suit, complete with high heels and a gorgeous dripping silver chain-link necklace. Her hair was tied up in an up-do of braids piled neatly on top of her head, and there was even a briefcase. 

She looked Jon up and down critically. He was wearing sweatpants and a holey shirt. 

“You forgot,” she condemned, “didn’t you?”

“No I didn’t,” Jon said reflexively. He paused. “Forgot what?”

Annabelle pinched the bridge of her nose. Jon noticed that she was even wearing her usual all-black lipstick and winged eyeliner. “The council committee for London I planned for today. Remember? The one with a representative for each Entity?”

Jon stared blankly at her. 

“There was an invite?”

“Oh, that. I don’t check my mail.” Jon looked at Daisy, who was now pressing aggressively against Jon. “Did you open up any mail recently?” Daisy barked. Jon looked back at Annabelle. “She ate it.”

“...of course she did.” Annabelle glanced down at Daisy, whose fur was standing on end as she growled lowly. “Have you had any success?”

“You would have noticed if I did,” Jon said shortly. 

“Have you tried talking to -”

“Yes,” Jon snapped, “but apparently some of us have better things to do than attend meetings and cure dogs.”

Annabelle intelligently dropped the matter, instead frowning at Jon. He crossed his arms, fighting the urge to hunch over away from her dark and perceptive stare. But instead of pushing him, she said, “Go get dressed in something a little appropriate, please. You look like you crawled out of the Buried.” Daisy barked, which Annabelle ignored. “What are you doing to your hair?”

Jon hunched defensively. It was a little matted and frizzy, but who was counting? “Daisy can’t exactly shave it anymore, and I don’t really...know what to do with it...am I doing something wrong? I bathe.”

It was very important to Daisy that he bathe and brush his teeth. Jon didn’t know what the big deal was, but if it was important to her then he did it.

Annabelle just pinched the bridge of her nose again, checking her wrist-watch. “Buzzing your hair is a crime against God, and letting your hair look like that is a crime against me. I’ll take care of this later. Just get ready in the next five minutes, or I’m filling your fridge with spiders again.”

Jon got ready in four. Annabelle didn’t joke around with that stuff. 

He didn’t really know what a council committee was. He didn’t know why he had to go to one either, seeing as Jon only tended to concern himself with Daisy. Daisy had been taking up a lot of his concern lately. Then his mood had plummeted again, and in the last month they’ve both been recalcitrant to leave the flat for anything but eating, and he was capable of noticing when he was hunting a little vindictively, and - anyway. 

He downloaded the knowledge, and then made a face when it didn’t really help. One of those nasty little political things. What was with his fellow Avatars and politics? Just torture anyone who bothers you. If they were one of those freaks who liked being tortured, then just smite them. Life was easy and very simple once you remembered that basic rule. 

But Annabelle was really into it - she kept on saying something about ‘order’ and ‘regulation’ and ‘first dibs’ - and she tended to drag him along into these things. She thought it was ‘important’ that Jon ‘know what was going on’ or something. Jon liked Knowing things, but once you know everything you realize that some things aren’t really interesting enough to know. 

When he asked Daisy if she wanted to go with, she feigned sleep. She had been hyperactive lately, compensating for her months of starvation with unbridled and frantic Hunting. Jon had taken her to one of those little pockets where people were running around and screaming all the time, and let her run wild in the rainforest for a while. It was the kind of fun bonding experience they hadn’t had in ages, and Jon had the opportunity to pluck his own grapes from the vine too. 

There had been an old man who really hadn’t been happy to see Jon, which had freaked him out a bit. He had started going on a little bit about how Jon had ruined his life, but he only got a few sentences in before a giant, carnivorous plant had eaten him. That was lucky. 

Jon had ripped the dimension apart as he left. Nasty little place. Nothing good there. 

So Jon left the house without Daisy for the first time since she had been well enough to move around, and with Annabelle. Daisy had been waiting at the door with a rucksack packed with his favorite book and his Nintendo DS, which made Annabelle ask her where the juicebox was. Daisy tried to bite her again. Jon didn’t know why everybody couldn’t just get along. 

There was a cab waiting outside, driven by another skeleton, and Annabelle quickly bundled him into it. Jon slouched in the corner and started playing WarioWare as Annabelle leafed through typewritten documents, lips pursing and making notes on the margins of each one with a red pen. She was muttering to herself, somewhat entertainingly. 

“My fourth arm for a computer, I swear to Jesus. My fourth and fifth arms. My sixth arm for a computer…”

“Are those the internet machines you told me about?” Jon asked, scribbling his stylus on the screen. Ashley cheered him on. He loved Ashley. “Do council committees need the internet?”

“The internet’s for a lot more than council committees Jon,” Annabelle said tightly. “They’re for video games. Ememoharepeegees -”

“Gesundheit.”

“ - bitcoin mining, instant messaging, online dating, freaking Google Docs -”

“Do you want it back?” Jon asked, bored. “I can make you the internet.”

Annabelle’s pen froze on the paper, hovering over a bullet-point list. “The entire internet? You can just do that?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jon poked his tongue out his mouth in concentration as he pressed the monkeys in a rhythmic order. Rhythm games were his jam. “That’s, like, the pocket nightmare dimension from Tron, right? I can do that. Addictions are easy. Put people inside, trap them inside a video or something. It’d be mostly for torture but you could probably use it normally.”

Annabelle stared at him, expression blank, for so long it made Jon a little uncomfortable and defensive. What had he said wrong? Daisy was usually good at interpreting these things for him, although sometimes when people went on about ‘violence’ she was just as confused as him. Finally, she said, “No, that’s alright. I always hated Black Mirror anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a telly - never mind. I don’t want you getting any more ideas.”

***

The council committee was held in the stupidest building Jon had ever seen in his entire life. And he had been in London for six months. He knew stupid buildings.

‘London City Hall’ or whatever was this awful giant, lopsided, obloid monstrosity. All glass and windows, with nary a brick in sight, Jon hated it instantly and severely. He was immediately filled with the urge to turn to somebody and commiserate with them about shitty architecture, but there was nobody else in the cab but Annabelle - and, well, she seemed to have other things on her mind. 

The neighborhood around it was filled with a mix of equally stupid buildings and perfectly respectable buildings that looked as if they had been made a long time ago. The sidewalks were relatively abandoned, and the streets were empty of everything but the endless rotation of tourist double-decker busses. Jon knew that this wasn’t one of those districts where people actually lived and roamed - instead, it was one of those business districts that people only stepped inside for work or city business. Like that silly little Palace of Westminster building that Annabelle had taken him to months ago when she was showing him the city. 

That building Annabelle had especially loved. It was filled with old white men with sagging jowls and liver spots, looping in endless routines and miniature atrocities. Annabelle had asked him to take as many Statements as possible, and Jon had needed no encouraging. 

That had been a strange trip. Normally people found his little monologues boring, because they were idiots with no taste, but Annabelle had listened to every single one. She had been enraptured, excited and triumphant. She had dragged him into some “Lord’s Chamber” or something and posed on the throne as Jon obediently took polaroids. Well, so long as she was happy. 

Jon was already seeing that London City Hall was no better. Annabelle dragged him through it, anxiously checking and re-checking her files, as they effortlessly weaved between shambling zombies of old white men in suits. Jon tasted the ripe air of trauma from them - a similar taste to that spiralling academic building, but rather a little more tart - but Annabelle dragged him away before he could stop and eat them.

There were parts of London that were safe. Maybe even most of London - although nowhere was truly safe, not really, not every location was absolutely haunted. The grocer’s was the grocer’s; the chemist still sold your medication. Not that you really needed it anymore, but habit was habit. 

But some buildings, which were entrenched so firmly in hundreds of years of evil, could not be dissuaded from their nightmares. In that respect, the safest city in the United Kingdom became the most dangerous. Some buildings had been nightmares even before the end of the world. 

Jon, of course, gave very little shits about this beyond in the academic sense. Annabelle refused to let him duck out of her meeting to go snack, and she ended up dragging him in front of what looked like a smallish conference room. 

Annabelle stopped in front of it, taking a second to breathe in and out and check her makeup. She seemed to be hyping herself up for it, shaking out her arms loosely. Jon slouched behind her, hands jammed in his trenchcoat pockets. Annabelle had asked him to put on a less raggedy suit, but - well, he sometimes had nicer suits, but they got raggedy very quickly. She had also asked him to leave the trenchcoat at home, but no way. It was part of his Look. 

“You’re frightened,” Jon noted with interest. Annabelle was scared of less than he was, and she had much less of a reason. “What about this room scares you?”

“It’s not the people in the room,” Annabelle snapped, flashing her compact shut. “It’s what I’m trying to do. If this world’s going to last more than a few years before it devolves into fuckin’ Mad Max we need leadership. I didn’t put all of this work in just to -” At Jon’s blank look, she sighed. “Never mind. You don’t care. Just - try to trust me, Jon.”

“Of course I trust you,” Jon said, baffled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

She stared at him, expression inscrutable, for a long moment, before opening the door and pulling him in. 

It was a nice conference room, all wood panelling and that specific green shade you only saw in lawyer’s offices. There was a large rectangular table in the center, and more than a dozen luxurious chairs arranged around it. There was a big pull-down screen on the far wall. Jon didn’t know what it was for, but he knew that if he downloaded the information it wouldn’t help. Omniscence was so useless. 

In a move that horrified Annabelle, most of the attendees seemed to be there. They had been chatting - talking, actually, quite loudly - before Annabelle strode in and Jon slumped in after her. But in the second that they both stepped in, an abrupt hush swept the room, and every eye swiveled to them.

If Jon was honest with himself, he’d say that they didn’t quiet when Annabelle stepped in. He’d say that they quieted when Jon stepped in. That it was Jon who they were looking at. 

But Jon didn’t particularly feel like engaging with that. He didn’t like being stared at by people he didn’t know, and he didn’t like being out in public with people he didn’t know. He didn’t enjoy being in buildings or meeting new people, much less going to boring meetings. Jon decided all of this instantaneously, as every eye swiveled to him.

Rooms full of humans were fine. It was just humans. Nothing even vaguely intimidating about that, unless the humans were teenage girls. But these were Avatars - Jon could taste their nature in the air, a sharp and electric tingle - and when they stared at Jon he felt something heavier in their gaze. Oh, lord. There was a teenage girl here. 

Jon tried slumping to the back chair, but Annabelle grabbed his collar and dumped him in a comfortable chair to her right. Jon saw a little placard in front of it that read ‘THE BEHOLDING’. Great. 

“Thank you all for coming today,” Annabelle said crisply, and suddenly every worry was gone. She was calm, poised, confident, and professional. A perfect imitation of the officials and politicians who once really walked these halls, who passed laws and rubber-stamped policies. She could have passed for an assistant or junior staff member, bright and intrepid and ready to climb her way up the ladder. “Are we all accounted for?”

It seemed so. Every chair but one was filled. When Jon peered around at the placards, he saw that each one had a different Entity on it. One of the seats had no placard, and was occupied by said teenage girl. Four were unoccupied: the Spiral, the Slaughter, the Hunt and the Extinction. 

Annabelle sat down in the head chair, which seemed just a little fancier. She put her folder in front of her, eyes flickering down the room. “It seems that Helen couldn’t make it. The Hunt duo seem to have...recently met unfortunate ends. The Slaughter Avatar called ahead to say that they couldn’t make it - it was high school picture day? And...I suppose the Extinction Avatar still doesn’t exist.”

She glanced at Jon, who shook his head. “Do you want one?” Jon asked. “I can go find a climate change denier in this building and make one for you.”

That also disturbed Annabelle, as well as everyone else. Jon abruptly felt awkward, and hunched in his seat. He defensively pulled out his DS, his plans to fall asleep in the back of the room already foiled. 

Above him, Annabelle continued droning. “Still, I appreciate you all coming. I know that we haven’t all gathered since a bit after the apocalypse began -” Wait, they had? Since when? “ - but I hope we can agree that further coordination is necessary. We’ve already begun having serious territory and jurisdiction disputes, and it’s best that they’re resolved sooner rather than later.” Nobody looked very impressed, but Annabelle looked seriously at them all anyway. “I want us all to have an equal voice at this table. Save the fighting for another time. And please try to keep your powers out of here. I’ve already sworn to avoid using any of my Mother’s gifts in this room, and I hope you all can do the same.”

“Yeah?” A woman drawled. She was unfamiliar to Jon, like most people in the room, but she had a teenage girl sitting next to her who seemed to be paying rapt attention to Annabelle. “How are you going to enforce that?”

Annabelle stared at him for some reason. Jon jabbed at his DS and won the Mona minigame. Nothing more was said. 

“Alright, then. I’ve already collected motions from all of you prior to this meeting.” Motions? Annabelle hadn’t said anything like that. Maybe it was on the invitation Daisy ate, but somehow he doubted it. Annabelle looked down and traced her finger down to her first point. “Many of you suggested this, so I would like to introduce it as a general discussion. Territory disputes, apparently, are a point of contention between many of us.” She opened her briefcase and pulled out a large map, and if Jon looked over the top of his DS he could see that it was a map of London. She also pulled out a red marker, uncapping it. The sheet was laminated, and there were already circles and markings all over it. “We’ll go one at a time. Amherst, you’ve motioned that the Stranger is intruding within Camden.”

A foppish looking man on a dumb little top hat scowled, as the young woman sitting behind the Strange placard looked annoyed. “It is gentrification. Every apartment complex occupied by artist studios are stealing food from the plate of my insects.”

“You haven’t had Camden for a decade,” the Stranger woman said, rolling her eyes. The Omniscience informed Jon that her name was Sarah Baldwin. Vaguely familiar - had he seen her at a cafe? “Nobody lives in those rat-infested tenements anymore. Now all the rats are performance art. Which is us. Get over it.”

“What is performance art -”

“Motion for no more Avatars over the age of 40,” Sarah Baldwin said. “I hate how Amherst and Wakely are in this room.”

“I wish I could second that,” Annabelle said, to the great affront of two grimy old men, “but unfortunately we do have to deal with this. Amherst, I’ve heard several complaints from other council members that you’re infiltrating their territory.”

“I am made of bugs -”

Jon checked out after that.

Instead, he surveyed the room a bit. Nobody in it was really interesting, just a meaningless collection of self-important people. The only person in the room other than Annabelle who he recognized was Oliver, who was sitting at the very back doing his best to fall asleep. When Jon Stared at him a bit he took notice and subtly waved. Jon shyly waved back. Jon liked Oliver. 

Oliver mouthed something adjacent to ‘what is wrong with your hair’, offending Jon grievously. He didn’t look that bad, did he?

He glanced to his left, then down, to ask Daisy’s opinion, but he realized too late that she hadn’t come with him. Stupid. She could have come as part of the Hunt - they didn’t have anybody, it wasn’t as if they could complain. Not to Jon, anyway. 

But she wouldn’t have wanted to. Daisy hated being an Avatar, for reasons that Jon had just never understood. She tried explaining it to him a long time ago, trying to talk about how guilty it made her and how much harm she had done, but it had just confused him more. She had tried to explain up until the end, as Jon had grown more and more angry at her for her refusal. He had never understood. 

She had stopped talking about it lately, though. Which was good. Jon didn’t know what he’d do if she starved herself twice. He wouldn’t have tolerated it.

Daisy had told him that the most important thing in the world was to make your own choices. So he let her make hers. No matter how much he hated it. 

The others weren’t familiar at all. There was a woman with wild dark hair sitting behind the Dark placard, which confused Jon slightly until he decided that they likely hadn’t wanted to send the thirteen year old. There was this really wrinkly and gross old man for the Vast, a younger looking but older feeling man for the Buried, a deathly pale woman for the Lonely, the muscular woman and the teenager for the Desolation...why did they have two…

The teenager was staring at Jon. She had intense orange eyes, the kind that bored into you and never blinked. She looked away every few seconds, as if she was being subtle, but when her gaze drifted back to him again he met her eyes with an unimpressed stare. She squeaked and looked away firmly, hiding behind her curtain of long red hair. 

Okay. Whatever. Kids were weird. Jon was glad he had never been one. 

Jon swapped out WarioWare for Pokemon SoulSilver, opening back up where he left off catching another MissingNo. His entire team was full of the things. He wanted a Mareep, damn it. 

Finally, Annabelle rapped the table sharply and said, “It’s agreed, then. Everybody submit specific written documentation of your territory by city block, and fax it to me by our next meeting. Please abide by the resolutions to the conflicts we discussed here. Any objections to moving onto our next order of business?”

“I have an objection to the Dark’s questionable behavior,” the Buried guy rumbled. He was dripping dirt everywhere. Why didn’t anybody complain to him about his hygiene? “In the words of the lad Brody, they are kill stealing. If they do not withdraw their nightmares from our embrace of the Earth, we will unleash retribution with extreme prejudice. The dirt is a holy place, and we will not be polluted by -”

“Oh, stick your shovel up your fat ass, Wakely,” the woman with wild black hair said. “People aren’t afraid of the fucking dirt, they’re afraid of the darkness in the tombs. Walk into a mausoleum sometime.”

“You poach the End’s territory now too, wench?”

“Please leave me out of this,” Oliver said. 

“If you call me wench one more time, you’ll be watching the back of your eye sockets for eternity,” the woman said pleasantly, “so royally fuck you.”

“Um, not to interrupt, but that’s not really how it works,” the teenager said, and the death glares between the two turned on her. She hunched her shoulders, but her expression stayed firm. “The terror is going to overlap. That’s just how it is. The Buried and the Dark are not entirely...separate things, they’re gradients that overlap. If you get all finicky about what belongs to who, then you’re just going in circles…”

“The last thing we need is the coward Messiah of the Eternal Flame telling me how to worship my god,” the woman snapped. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Manuela,” the muscular woman said flatly.

Then they were glaring, and Wakely was saying something else snide, and Manuela was making another dig at the teenager as the muscular woman bitched, and Jon abruptly wanted them all to shut up. 

“You’re being too loud,” Jon said. 

The entire room shut up immediately. The teenager opened her mouth, but the pale woman caught her eye and shook her head. 

Annabelle clapped her hands in the silence. “Onto the second motion, then! Infrastructure! Right now we are sorely missing a great deal of essential city infrastructure, and it’s becoming a huge problem. We’re still figuring out what’s mystically maintained, and what’s just being maintained because the humans haven’t figured out how to stop doing it yet, but there’s some work that’s being neglected. The Vast has motioned to reinstate the postal system.”

“Vetoed,” the Lonely woman said. 

“You can’t do that,” Annabelle said blankly. “We need to vote.”

“I’d like to make an argument for the motion, dear,” the Vast man said, making Annabelle’s eye twitch. “My argument is this: Amazon Prime is so convenient!”

“We have every Amazon warehouse under our control,” the representative from the Flesh said. He was...very fleshy. “It’d be no issue to go back to production.”

“Jared has a point. The Eye’s been feeding through Amazon for years,” Annabelle said thoughtfully. The mention of the Eye piqued Jon’s attention, but then he finally ran into a Mareep and he stopped paying attention again. “We can tap into the people who are living 1984 and get them back in industry.”

“Can we begin producing again?” the Desolation woman asked, interested. “We have all these people miserable at work, but nothing’s actually being made. If we let a little reality break into the nightmares…”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” the Lonely woman asked sharply. “It’ll make it easier for them to escape.”

“They all escape eventually,” Sarah Baldwin said. “They all break out in days to months. We can afford a little more permeability if we actually get things working again.”

Then conversation was off and running about something that Jon didn’t really care about, so he checked out again. He didn’t know what all of this production and infrastructure stuff meant. Going Postal meant that he had a very good understanding of a mail system, but he didn’t have a personal interest. Who he would send letters to?

Jon quickly downloaded what Amazon was. Oh, that would be useful. Wait, he could get any book delivered to his door? Without having to go out hunting for it? How would this work without the internet - a catalogue? 

Everybody seemed invested in getting the internet back up, except for the two hundred year olds. Jared kept saying something about porn, whatever that was. If enough people felt like Annabelle, then maybe they would make it a priority. Jon didn’t know how he felt about that. 

He didn’t know how he felt about the fact that it was impossible. 

But everybody - or most people - genuinely seemed excited about it. They even seemed to be working together, intent on the same goal.

Sarah Baldwin wanted to know if we have enough people constantly under camera to have footage for television. Maybe we could get cable back up? DVDs were a lost cause, but if we could just start airing the VHS tapes…

Annabelle had a look of hook-ups (literally) in the film industry, maybe they could do something like that?

The Hahns are highly involved in production and distribution, Jared pointed out. There was no need to produce food, but if we wanted to increase access to goods it might be possible. 

Why? Why did they care? This world provided them everything they needed. 

For some reason, Jon felt a little defensive. What did they need all of these things for, anyway? All of this entertainment - cable and movies and internet. The world had books. What was so wrong with books? There were even old VHS tapes liberated from charity stores if you really wanted to get fancy. The most high-tech electronic Jon had ever found was the DS in his hands and a couple of games, which Salasea had given to him as an exotic artifact. Only Salasea owned these things now: trinkets and curiosities, hallmarks of an antiquated time. 

What was the point of these supply lines? People didn’t need to eat or shop or consume. Nightmares provided the facsimile, and since they got a little crazy if they never ate they were provided the security of food. Buying towels and shoes and toys...it was a waste of time. People had towels. Nobody outgrew their shoes or wore them out. Children’s toys didn’t break, and anything that made happiness a little easier to come by was discouraged.

Nothing was ever subtracted. Nothing was added. The world was frozen, captured in the amber of time, and it would never move backwards and forwards.

They knew this. Didn’t they?

“We have to make this place livable for us,” Annabelle was saying. She spoke oddly intensely, with a fervor that Jon had seen in her a few times before. Annabelle didn’t like to give off the impression that she cared about things, but once you knew her it was hard to miss. “It’s easier than ever to stay powerful and feed our Forces, but that doesn’t mean we can grow complacent. We have to work together to eat sustainably. To live sustainably. If we don’t try to rebuild, at least enough to get the world moving again, then we’re sentencing ourselves to a boring and decrepit eternity in a world we will all see die within our immortal lifetimes.”

Everyone at the table was nodding. They looked determined. United. Almost...they held an expression that Jon just couldn’t name. An emotion he didn’t understand.

He had seen it in Daisy, once. She had called it hope. He hadn’t understood back then. He still didn’t. 

“Liar,” Jon said, as his minigame timed out and the game over music tinkled across the tinny speakers. 

Annabelle looked at him, expression inscrutable. “These problems are legitimate, Archivist. The writing’s clearly on the wall, and -”

“You’re all so stupid,” Jon complained, and Annabelle abruptly stopped talking to glare at him. Whatever. Jon had lost all patience. He closed his DS and dropped it on the table, resigning himself to talking. Jon hated public speaking, especially in front of so many people he didn’t know and, frankly, creeped him out. “You can’t build anything in this world. If you try to impose a cute little government then it’ll break down into cannibalism or something.”

“Would you know, Archivist?” Jared asked evenly. 

“Jonah didn’t enact this world through myself for living,” Jon said, bored, and everybody stared at him with wide eyes. “We created it for suffering. Suffering isn’t living.”

“One might say the opposite,” the Vast man said, somehow twinkingly. “Suffering is an unavoidable side effect of living, isn’t it?”

“Is that philosophy? I don’t understand philosophy.” Jon wasn’t very good with anything that required extensive and complex thought. Which made sense - Jonah hadn’t exactly created him to think. “Humanity has clouded your minds. Makes all of you irrational and sentimental. Release your attachment to the old world. Just accept the way things are now.” Jon shrugged. “It’s not as if you can do anything about it.”

“Nobody in this room is exactly human, Jon,” Oliver pointed out placidly. 

Jon snorted. “Wanting free porn back? You’re all dripping with it.” It was honestly a little sad. “The only ones in this world free of that weakness are Jonah and I. And he’s the only one who could do any of this.”

“Then where is he?” the Desolation woman snapped. She leaned forward, hands gripping the table in anger. The teenager watched her anxiously. “Why doesn’t he come on down from his high tower and explain what’s going on? We’re in the fucking dark here!”

“I’m sorry,” Jon said coldly, “who are you?”

He rubbed his bad hand. For some reason, everybody watched him do so. He stopped, self-conscious. 

“Prejudiced remarks aside,” Manuela said. She had been hostile all day, but she now spoke cautiously. “Jonah Magnus needs to take responsibility for this. We don’t even know how the world ended.”

Several people glanced at Annabelle, whose lips thinned. “I shouldn’t say.”

Of course she knew. And of course she wasn’t about to tell him. Whatever. Jon didn’t care. Past was the past. 

He found his hand clenching. There was a strange tension in his throat. He didn’t care. He didn’t. Rehashing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, even now, wasn’t really worth the time or energy. He didn’t care.

“No use crying over spilled milk,” the Vast guy said lightly. “But it is a relevant question. Jonah frequently spoke of his plans, and I realize now that he had never truly shown all of his cards. But he had always held an intention to...well, rule. It’s only in this moment of his victory that he shows no interest.”

“Jonah’s busy,” Jon snapped. “Trust me, you don’t want that arse around. He never even gives me directions, and I’m his right hand.”

“Or his puppet,” Sarah Baldwin muttered. 

It was fair. Probably even true. So why did an intense and burning fury shoot through Jon?

“What gives this child the right to dictate us?” Wakely demanded. Jon’s hands clenched on the table until his knuckles turned white. “What gives Jonah Magnus the right to rule us?”

“He’s not much of a ruler,” Amherst grunted. “My vote’s that we rule this world in a council.”

“Administration is important,” Annabelle said, impossibly terse, “but unless anyone here actually has the means to seize control, then there’s no use voting on it.”

“There’s only one Avatar here who has those means,” Manuela said darkly, crossing her arms and looking straight at Jon. “So why doesn’t he do anything?”

They were feeding on each other. They wouldn’t have said these - these treasonous things by themselves. But when one person spoke up, the next felt empowered, and they felt as if they outnumbered him. Jonah Magnus was hardly there to press him into obedience - why buckle under his oppressive gaze? What could he do?

The stupidest people in this world all gathered in one room. It took a special level of arrogance, pride, and stupidity to assume that one was more powerful than Jonah Magnus.

“I’m not in charge of anything,” Jon said tersely. “I don’t even have a domain. I’m just trying to live my life.”

The Desolation woman snorted. “Typical. You’re rolling over for Jonah.”

Jon’s eyes widened - not in surprise, but in anger. 

The teenager seemed a little uncomfortable. “Jude,” she hissed, “I don’t think -”

“Jude,” Jon breathed. “So that’s your name.” 

He was standing up. Jon didn’t remember standing up. Everybody was leaning away, their own eyes wide. Some just looked confused, slightly perturbed - Wakely, Amherst. Others looked ready to bolt - Manuela, the old man from the Vast. Jon knew, in a flash of insight that grew hotter and hotter, that he preferred to be called Simon. 

“Sit down, Jon,” Annabelle said, as authoritative and no-nonsense as ever. Normally he’d listen to her, respecting that she usually knew what was going on far better than he ever did. But the words barely reached him, drowned out by the rushing in his ears. “Look, we can talk about this rationally, alright?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jude said. She snorted, burning red eyes never leaving Jon’s. “As if I’m scared of this baby prick.”

“Maybe we can move on from Jonah Magnus,” Simon said quickly. “A discussion of airspace rights, perhaps -”

“Jon,” Oliver said, voice creased in worry, “are you okay?”

“This is the all-powerful demigod you all warned me about?” Amherst said. He was dripping with condescension, just like - just like everyone else - “He’s little more than a child.”

“Guys!” the teenager’s voice rang through the room, close to scared. “The walls are melting!”

So they were. It was as if the stone and wood was made of wax, sent guttering by a sputtering candle. Wood and finish were already pooling on the floor, melting the rolling wheel of Jared’s chair and forcing him to jump up from it. 

“Jon!” Annabelle said sharply. “Don’t throw a tantr -”

The table cracked sharply. It was warping, twisting in on itself as if it was a wrung towel. Jon realized, too late to care, that his hair was rising. He knew his eyes were spinning, an eternal churning wheel. 

“Fuck this, meeting adjourned.” Manuela stood up sharply, pushing her chair back into a melting bubble. The floor was beginning to bubble and warp. “See you all next month.” 

“I’ll walk you out,” Simon said quickly, standing up too. 

“You have two minutes,” Jon said, voice heavy with static. “Don’t bother me about this shit again.”

The signal was clear enough. Jude rose from her chair, grabbing her teenager’s elbow and pushing her out the door. The others followed in their wake, expressions carefully neutral. It was useless: Jon could taste their fear, their trepidation. Even better: their anger, barely brindled fury, and disgust. 

They couldn’t do anything about it, Jon thought giddily. No matter how much they hated or were scared of him, they couldn’t do anything about it. Jon was powerful. Jon couldn’t be hurt. Jon couldn’t - 

Jon couldn’t reign this in. 

Before he knew it, the conference room was empty. Only two other people remained: Annabelle, expression as inscrutable as ever, and an uncomfortable Oliver. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his pea coat, and he was looking around with disaffected interest - as if he was standing in line at a Starbucks in rush hour instead of in the epicenter of a melting building.

Jon knew. The entire building was dissolving. It was teeming with humans, lost and trapped and defenseless. He didn’t want to kill them. Jon didn’t like hurting people. He heard a voice speak in his head, foreign and familiar. Bring it in, Jon. 

But he couldn’t. His hair would fall back around his shoulders, and the static rushing through his ears just wouldn’t abate. It felt like everything was pouring out of him, a relentless faucet that wouldn’t stop churning out thick streams of putrid water. 

Jon fisted his hands in his hair, groaning. “Where’s -”

“She’s at your flat,” Annabelle said calmly. “Do you want me to get her?”

No. No, this was too embarrassing. He was an adult, he could handle this. Jon groaned again and sank into his seat, saved from the toxic waste of glass and brick. “No. Focus on getting the humans out of here.”

“What do you care?” Oliver asked, vaguely curious. “You don’t seem that fond of humanity.”

“Just do it!” Jon snapped, instead of admitting that he didn’t know either.

Eventually, the room stopped melting. Jon didn’t even want to think about how difficult it would be to leave the building. He could probably straighten out the hallways just enough to help Annabelle and Oliver get out.

Ugh. This place had sunk straight into Helen’s domain. He could taste it in the air: any future human who wandered in would be stuck in an endless spiral of twisted, melted hallways. Probably flavored with...powerlessness and fear. Feeling very small, as someone very large loomed down on you. Tories. 

At least he hadn’t sucked flattened the building into one plane again, robbing it of all spiritual and metaphysical dimensions. Jon had done that to a graveyard once. The place was putrid now. He had accidentally fallen into a grave and panicked and - anyway. 

He rested his forehead on the warped and splintered conference table, waiting for his throat to open back up and the rushing in his ears to die down. Finally, after what felt like forever, his hair floated back down and he felt his eyes resume their normal shape. 

Awkward silence loomed. Jon sighed. “Sorry.”

“I worked hard to arrange this, you know,” Annabelle said.

“Yeah.”

“I am not happy with you, Jon,” Annabelle said. 

“Sorry,” Jon said miserably. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I mean,” Oliver said, after a beat, “that’s kind of terrifying. That you can melt a building on accident. Like, what would happen if you got really pissed at Manchester or something?”

“Goodbye, Manchester,” Annabelle muttered. 

Jon lifted his head, glaring blearily at Oliver. “If you think that’s crazy, you should have been there the one time I opened up an extradimensional gate and unleashed nightmare terrors into the world, rendering all of humanity immortal and eternally trapped in endless infernal hellscapes.”

Oliver shrugged, conceding the point. 

But Annabelle just looked thoughtful. Probably reworking five billion plans, knowing her. Jon didn’t want to know, because he didn’t care. Let her do whatever she wanted. None of his business. Hopefully, after this disaster, she’d keep it out of his business. 

Finally, she asked, “Was that true? That there’s no moving us forward?”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. But if he didn’t tell her then she’d just bug him about it later, or find some way to get the information out of him that would be both convoluted and unpleasant. “I’m not saying that people can’t...live their lives. They’re obviously still going to work and typing in every digit of pi into their spreadsheets for eight hours and then going home to stare, hypnotized, into cable television. But I am saying that there’s no achieving more than that. There’s no going backwards, and there’s no going forwards. The past is closed to us, and so is the future.” He eyed her warily. “If you have any cute time travel ideas, forget it.”

“I would never,” Annabelle said innocently. 

Yeah, sure. Liar. Jon scowled. “You’re all hampered by your humanity.” When Oliver opened his mouth, Jon just shook his head. “Even Avatars are still people. We’re all conduits for eldritch Forces, hollowed out to serve as a live wire for their power, but we - you all remember a human life. You care about things. You have relationships. You love. It makes you weak. Some of you don’t even like your lot in life - some part of you aching for something familiar, when you felt genuine happiness instead of the cheap facsimile induced by causing pain.” Jon looked down at his hands, reflexively picking at one of his many scars. “You should be more like me. You’d be more focused.”

“Are you capable of...changing, Jon?” Oliver asked curiously. “Or will you be this way forever?”

“Most of Annabelle’s plans hinge on that not happening,” Jon said, not even aware it was true until he said it, “so I suppose we’ll find out.”

Of course, Jon knew what Oliver had tactfully not said. He had wanted to know if Jon would ever grow up. They all thought he was a child, even Annabelle. Jon had the feeling even Daisy did, sometimes. 

It was stupid and they were wrong. Child would imply adult, would imply birthday parties and learning to talk and learning geography. Jon didn’t have to learn geography. He knew geography. He didn’t age. He was born being able to talk. Jon was above all of these things. He was mature. And even if he wasn’t, who cared?

But Annabelle just smiled at Jon, a polite mask. Annabelle hadn’t made a genuine facial expression in - well, longer than Jon’s memory. Or maybe that was the wrong way to put it. Maybe it was more accurate that she never expressed an emotion that she didn’t mean to. “Well! That wasn’t entirely a disaster, was it? I think next time could go really well. Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t drag you out of bed again.” She propped her hands on her hips. “Now, the three of us are going back to your flat and doing something about your awful rat’s nest.”

Oh, lord. This was going to be terrible. “Do we have to?” Jon whined. 

Annabelle smiled again, but this time it was so dangerous that Jon couldn’t help but quail. “My spiders are collecting the avocado oil and coconut oil now. My best friend in secondary had 3C hair too, I think I know what to do. Oliver, bring the buzzer, scissors, and satin wraps.”

“Three cee?” Jon asked, confused. “What’s that?”

Oliver grimaced. “Why am I involved in this?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with a guy’s hair, and you’re probably the only guy I’ve ever met who knows what to do with hair? Keep up.”

“I’m feeling pigeonholed, but fine. But we are not buzzing that hair. It’s a crime against god.” Oliver looked thoughtful for a second. “I think Jon would do a nice, loose afro. I think I still have some hair masks and vinegar rinse -”

“Why is this so complicated?” Jon asked, completely freaked out. “What are these things?”

But Annabelle just smiled sweetly at him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Jon. I’ll teach you what you need to know.”

Well. It seemed easier than figuring things out for himself. Jon didn’t like responsibility. Today was his first taste of responsibility in ages, and he had already decided that it sucked. Better to let somebody who actually cared take care of it. 

That way, he didn’t have to be powerful. Didn’t have to be anybody’s demigod on Earth, capable of murdering whoever he liked. He could just be Jon, Private Detective, Archivist. He could have fun. Just live. Didn’t he deserve that, despite everything?

He stood up too, summoning a shaky smile for Annabelle. “So you aren’t mad about me ruining your meeting, then?”

“Water under the bridge,” Annabelle said. “Now come on, we have to stop by the chemist’s and pick up a decent hairbrush.”

Hairbrush? What was that for?

****

Six months after time resumed its course

Jon opened his mailbox, only to find mail.

Suspicion immediately loomed. Jon didn’t get mail. Not due to any kind of impossibility, but just because he didn’t pay bills and none of the mimic junk mail was brave enough to try their luck with him. Maybe invoices, sometimes, but mostly those were dropped off in person. The invoices were scarier than the finger-biting mimics: he still didn’t quite know how they worked. Sasha kept insisting they were important, but Sasha also insisted face masks were important. She didn’t know everything. That was Jon’s job.

He grabbed the singular envelope anyway, elbowing his door back open as he inspected the envelope. Thick, rich, and creamy, it reminded Jon uncomfortably of Annabelle’s party invite from a while ago. In the front, he saw that it was addressed to...Agnes?

The living room was noisy and busy, entirely due to the recipient of the letter and her brother. They were playing Mario Kart on the Wii, and apparently disowning each other. Jon watched Agnes hit Gerry with a blue shell, slightly bemused, and saw Dry Bones spin out into the center and make a pitiful noise. Baby Peach loomed supreme. 

Jon almost felt bad interrupting. An opened bag of chips scattered dust around Gerry, and Agnes had a half-empty pack of uncooked hot dogs next to her. They had both been at this for a while. “Agnes, you got a letter. And try to keep it down, Sasha’s working and Daisy’s sleeping.”

Agnes turned around, half a hot dog hanging out of her mouth like a cigar. She swallowed it quickly, holding out one hand and letting Jon give her the letter. She frowned down at the front, ignoring the way Gerry craned his head to take a look, and when she checked the back she frowned deeper. There was a wax seal, its details out of sight to Jon. 

“Is it that time already?” Agnes muttered, putting her controller down and letting the parade lap on the screen continue. 

Gerry frowned too as Agnes carefully broke the seal. “Is that from…?”

“Yeah. Weird, though. Guess it’s about time for the follow-up to the emergency meeting.” She pulled a letter out of the envelope, embossed on creamy paper. She scanned it quickly. “Downing street this time…”

“Are you going to go?”

“Well, it’s not as if Jude can,” Agnes said diplomatically, refolding the paper. 

Jon cleared his throat, making the kids jump. They had half-forgotten he was there. Far too late, Agnes hid the invite behind her back. “Care to explain?”

“Oh, you know,” Agnes said vaguely, casually tossing the invite behind her shoulder and letting Gerry snatch it out of midair. “It’s the invite to the Avatar council meetings. I think they’re held once every three months, but since months are a theoretical concept it’s occasionally hard to tell..”

“Not these days,” Gerry said excitedly. “It’s cold! The leaves fell!”

“The leaf thing is dope,” Agnes agreed. “Anyway, I should go. I have, like, serious words. I already submitted ten motions. I want to run for Treasurer, but Jared keeps saying that anybody who isn’t old enough to open her own bank account shouldn’t be treasurer.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?” Jon asked blankly. Was this some kind of youth league? Baseball? Was this baseball?

Abruptly, Agnes looked very sketchy. “I...it’s really nothing you’d be interested in.”

“I am interested in everything,” Jon said. He was offended beyond all belief. “Don’t keep secrets!”

“Jon’s not a big fan of secrets,” Gerry stage-whispered. “Did Annabelle say that we shouldn’t tell him or did she just say not to bother him about it?”

Agnes abruptly started sweating wax. “I can’t remember.”

“Now you have to tell me,” Jon said flatly. 

They gave up very quickly. Teenagers loved hiding things, but they also loved drama and spilling secrets. “It’s the Avatar council meeting thing,” Gerry said eagerly. “You know, where you guys all get together and re-enact the British empire by making government decisions and imposing made-up laws on the people you’ve conquered and are currently subjugating under your big stompy boots?”

“I’m changing the system from the inside,” Agnes said proudly. 

Gerry shot her an unimpressed look. “Okay. Yeah. Sure. Because that’s a thing that makes sense in an inherently corrupt system with an inherently unethical existence that exists to be profitable at the expense of the marginalized.”

“I don’t understand anything children these days even talk about,” Jon said. 

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Agnes said to Jon. But she had a strange expression on her face, one hard to decipher. “It’s where we met.”

Jon stared at her blankly. “I don’t remember talking to you.”

“I was sitting next to Jude?” Agnes hinted. “Teenager? Red hair?”

Wait. Jon snapped his fingers. “Annabelle’s idiot thing! Right! Right, of course, Oliver made me sit still for five hours afterwards, it was insufferable.” 

Wait. Jon abruptly remembered the rest of that day. It seemed like so long ago, even though it was probably objectively only about three years. It must have been about...yes, a few months after Daisy had gotten stuck...

He barely remembered those tepid and awful months. He had been on a bit of a hair trigger back then. It had been really tough, with Daisy leaving and his terrifying encounter with Jonah. He remembered everybody had been annoying and mean and made him feel bad…

“First time I ever remember feeling fear, honestly,” Agnes said to Gerry. “Scariest moment of my life. Remember when we first met Jon? All I could think about was that he was going to melt us like he melted that building.”

Hot shame flared in Jon’s gut. Right. Other people were real, and existed, and were probably more important than his...what had he even been upset about? He didn’t remember. 

He melted a building and he didn’t even remember why. 

“I’m going too,” Jon said, and both kids startled. “I’m coming with you.”

Agnes and Gerry stared at each other with wide eyes. 

“Uh,” Agnes said finally, hesitant, “there’s about a 50/50 chance Annabelle said not to tell you about this, and you definitely didn’t get an invite, so statistically you probably aren’t -”

“She can’t exactly stop me from coming,” Jon said, and both kids quieted. 

Power-tripping had lost all appeal for Jon - assuming role as a conduit for global and absolute power did that to you - but he couldn’t deny it was useful sometimes. The world probably could have stood a little more power-tripping from him, actually. At least, it would have been helpful if he had ever done anything helpful with it. But he had never really bothered. 

But Agnes still looked perturbed, almost worried. “Annabelle’s like one of two people you used to ever listen to, so if you don’t really care what she thinks anymore -”

“I think Annnabelle knows better than to complain these days,” Jon said. 

It probably was for the best that Jon didn’t listen much to Annabelle anymore. 

****

Jon hadn’t really told the others about Annabelle’s worse-than-murder attempt. 

It didn’t really seem like any of their business, and he had spinned a vague explanation of how the situation happened. He didn’t lie, just - withheld information.

For the first time, the truth didn’t seem so important. He had the feeling it would have just upset them. It wasn’t as if he would take revenge against Annabelle. The world needed her, and Jon was a little tired of murdering everyone who upset him. The others (Daisy) would insist on the little murder attempts if they knew, but that was probably part of why he didn’t tell them. If they never knew about the one unselfish thing he had done in his life - well, one unselfish thing didn’t make up for three years of selfishness, so there was very little point.

Martin suspected. Actually, Martin seemed to know, which terrified Jon slightly. It was impossible to get anything past Martin. Jon was deeply intimidated by the man. Sasha laughed very long and hard when he told her that, for unknown reasons. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if he felt betrayed. Even if the last time he had attended one of Annabelle’s little council meetings he still trusted her, that had faded quickly in favor of complete apathy. Even then, as young as he was, he had never expected the truth from her. Just friendship. Whatever she was doing, it probably wouldn’t affect him, so there was no use in worrying. Even if Annabelle slightly terrorized every other person in the United Kingdom - well, Jon was fine, so what did it matter.

Jon couldn’t decide if he was stupid or naive. Or, even worse - if he was just lazy. 

Jon didn’t listen to Annabelle anymore. 

Unfortunately, he still listened to Sasha James. 

Two weeks later, the date of the actual meeting, Jon was stuck explaining himself to his entire house, who doubted all of his decisions. Which was just unfair. Jon made good decisions! He had made tons of good decisions, like -

Anyway!

“I think it’s a great idea,” Sasha said, freaking out Jon. “Displaying interest in your local government’s fantastic! Did you do any research on the relevant issues?”

Jon, in the middle of pulling on his trenchcoat, started sweating. “I was just planning on showing up.”

Agnes, who was wearing a gauzy skirt and blouse as Daisy helped a whining Gerry with his court buttons, gave Sasha the thumbs up. “I’m going to propose motions and Jon’s going to say ‘yeah what she said’ and it’ll be great.”

Jon let Agnes believe that.

“Well, you’ll have to share Jon’s political weight,” Sasha said cheerfully. She was in sweatpants and one of Jon’s pilfered t-shirts again. She had recently designated herself a writer, and had joined some sort of recent artist and activist collective where they did mysterious things that Jon didn’t understand. There’s a zine involved? Jon didn’t know what a zine was and he was scared to ask.

Georgie and Melanie had spent a week teaching Jon in laborious detail what exactly the internet was - information Jon could have just downloaded, but they had been intent in their mission of creating ‘the perfect internet’ and had gone through great effort in teaching him what the ‘good’ internet was (Ravelry, Spotify, r/HobbyDrama, YouTubers but only a very specific list) and what the ‘bad’ internet was (social media, the rest of Reddit, every other YouTuber). Jon wasn’t sure if the new internet was to their specifications, and he hadn’t quite been able to avoid parts of it spiralling into nightmare dimensions and hellish breeding grounds for violence and trauma, but Melanie assured him that Twitter had always been like that. 

Jon also secretly added a nightmare filter to Melanie’s screen reader, after he made sure every inch of it was accessible, after he roughly recreated screen readers. Melanie said that the voice sounded uncannily like the aunt she had hated, but that it was no big deal. 

Anyway, Sasha was a blogger now. After a few meltdowns to Sasha’s computer he had to install a nightmare filter for her too, which made her complain about feeling like an old woman whose grandson had to install AdBlock on her browser. Jon was a little scared of the whole blogging thing, but everybody seemed much happier, so maybe that was the important thing.

“Wait,” Jon said, finally recognizing what Sasha said. “Share with who?”

There was a knock on the door. Jon felt intense fear.

“She’s here!” Sasha said cheerfully. “Come in!”

Jon watched in horror as Basira Hussain casually strode into her house. He knew he couldn’t stop her. She had a key to the place, because Jon had no control of his life. 

“Hey honey,” Basira said, intimately. 

“Hey honey,” Daisy said lovingly, releasing Gerry from her clutches.

They stared at each other, as if this was any kind of greeting whatsoever, before ignoring each other. Jon did not understand so many things. 

Basira, terrifyingly, was dressed like she was about to go defend her client in court. She had a briefcase, and Jon recognized her most important looking crimson hijab. Very abruptly, Jon had a flashback to the way Annabelle had dressed when she had picked him up in his old office. They even had the same expression: determined and resolute, in a way that Jon could never understand. 

Basira nodded at Jon. “Hey. Sasha invited me to this thing. She told you I was coming, right.”

“She did not.”

“Whatever. Are we going to get going? We’re going to be late.”

Jon looked at Sasha pleadingly. Cold and resolute stone, Sasha showed no mercy. She smiled brightly, giving Agnes a final hug and pushing her forward. “You kids have a great time! Terrorize the bourgeoisie!”

“I am the bourgeoisie,” Jon said blankly, but the situation had already spiraled out of his control. Agnes and Basira were already comparing lists of notes, seriously discussing the motions Agnes had raised and how she was going to help Basira. 

That was it – how Agnes could help Basira. How Agnes, and the role she had in the council hall, could help Basira and the people Jon knew that she intended on representing today. 

They hadn’t even looped him in. Had they assumed that he wouldn’t care? That he wouldn’t help? Agnes hadn’t even wanted him there. Only Sasha -

He felt a cool, small hand grab his arm, and he turned around to see Daisy. Gerry was already enthusiastically capturing Sasha about the concert he and Agnes were going to later, and Jon knew that they weren’t listening. Daisy’s expression was somber, her body tense. Daisy wasn’t one for facial expressions at the best of times – not even a new development – but something about this…

“I should go with you,” Daisy said. 

“I already told you no,” Jon said, miffed. “I can handle this by myself.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go by yourself last time,” Daisy said. Jon could admit that things probably wouldn’t have spiraled out of control if she had been there, but that didn’t mean – “Don’t terrify yourself just because you feel guilty.”

Daisy hadn’t aged any more than the rest of the world had. As an Avatar, she likely never would. She even looked young for her mid-forties, with her short stature and broad, unlined face. Sasha had assured him that she was ‘Kristen Bell-ish’, whatever that meant. But she always seemed so old to him: larger than life and not even reaching his shoulders. Wise and world-weary even when, as Jon was beginning to see, she didn’t know what she was doing any more than the rest of them did. 

It scared Jon, almost: if Daisy wasn’t the person who could swoop in and make it all better, then who could? 

If Jonah wasn’t the omnipresent god, then who was the most powerful person in the world?

Jon shook her off, fighting the pull in his gut. “I’m not scared of them anymore.”

She didn’t look impressed. “You’re always scared.”

“Look at the time, going to be late, gotta go!” 

He still couldn’t win an argument against her. 

They took a taxi there, as Jon had cheerfully informed them that the Tube was delayed due to infernal leaves on the line (Work-from-home was the hot new thing these days). Basira was clearly on edge, tense and constantly keeping an eye on the taxi driver (a friendly skeleton) and the street. Agnes wasn’t any more relaxed, reading her notes over and over. 

Jon leaned back in his plush seat, closing his eyes. What would Martin say? He would probably be cuttingly pointing out how Jon was in denial over how he really was secretly afraid of the Avatars and now it was even more dangerous because he was much more willing to power-trip. 

Forget about what Jon wanted. Forget about his fear, his insecurities, and every rationale he had constructed for himself as to why Jon deserved a life free of these worries.

Jon was above politics. The Avatar with no need to defend their territory, who held no fear of death or failure, had no need. Jon could not lose the affection of his patron. His domain was the world, and it could not be attacked no matter how hard he tried. Jon was not a politician, so of course that meant he could not be manipulated by politicians -

“What’s your plan,” Jon asked, without opening his eyes.

They told him. Basira was clinical; Agnes excited. Jon didn’t say anything about it, and let the conversation die down until the taxi was rolling in front of 10 Downing Street. Didn’t the prime minister live here? Boris...something? Jon quickly downloaded the information, before he found that Boris Johnson had been the world’s most convoluted psy-op by Annabelle and had never exactly existed. Thank goodness.

Right as the taxi idled in front of the building, Jon opened his eyes. He let them flare up, an intimidating spark of toxic green. “You two follow my lead.”

“Excuse me,” Basira said flatly, as Jon waved at the driver in lieu of payment. He hadn’t found out that you were supposed to pay taxi drivers until...a few months ago. In his defense, they never asked. “This is our operation.”

Jon glanced at her, and something relaxed around the corners of her eyes. He wondered if his expression was familiar to her. He couldn’t help but smile weakly, and that softened her expression even more. “Will you trust me?”

Basira stared at him for one long beat, then two, before grimacing. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Do I usually make you regret it?” 

“Literally, every single time,” Basira said. 

“Then it’s a pretty stupid decision to trust me again,” Jon pointed out. “You don’t seem the type to make stupid decisions.”

Basira stared at him for a long moment, before leaving the car. 

Jon and Agnes silently watched her leave, before glancing at each other. 

“And I thought you ran from your feelings,” Agnes said finally, before following her. 

Jon, left with nothing else to do, followed Agnes.

10 Downing Street, Jon quickly found, was just like every other pretentious old British home. With lots of grandiose rooms with furniture shoved into corners so everybody could appreciate the gold-plated tile, or sitting rooms with the most uncomfortable places to sit Jon had ever seen. Each wall hosted gigantic portraits of famous British figures, who were all so ugly that Agnes incinerated one for fun. Jon respected her choices: he had been wearing a stupid wig. 

Jon, unfortunately instinctively aware of the layout and history of this sordid place, led them through the halls. He opened his mouth, instinctively about to funnel a Statement regarding the decades of human suffering and imperialism, before forcing his mouth closed. Basira wouldn’t appreciate it. Besides, the Statements had been easier to ignore lately - like curious dogs nosing at his hands rather than insistent children demanding to be fed. 

Instead, he settled on casually updating them on the choice of location. “A year ago, this location wouldn’t have been safe for Basira at all. This building was a nightmare pit of despair.” He led them up the ridiculous flights of stairs watching carefully as Agnes jumped up them. Trick steps, you know. Basira proceeded far more cautiously. “It’s...no less a nightmare pit, but like the rest of London it’s now safe to navigate. I’d keep clear of the residential rooms, however. The Prime Minister and his family haven’t escaped their nightmares since the apocalypse, and they never will.”

Basira’s eyebrows skyrocketed up. “David Cameron’s stuck in hell? No surprise there. What’s he having a nightmare about?” 

“Well, there’s this pig, right, and you’ll never guess what he’s doing -”

“Never mind,” Basira said quickly. “Not interested.”

“I’m interested,” Agnes said. 

“I’d rather you weren’t.”

Jon, who also wished he didn’t know this information, quickly directed them towards the conference room.   

But he found himself stopping in front of the intricately carved oak double doors. The wrought golden handles were grimy and dull with dust, but Agnes and Basira did not hesitate to open the door and walk in. They didn’t hesitate; they weren’t frightened. Or, if they were, they didn’t let it stop them.

But Jon stopped. He felt like Annabelle, in that moment. Annabelle, standing in front of that conference room door so long ago, unable to admit that she felt any fear at all. 

She had been desperate. Jon saw that now. Only a desperate person would have ever concocted that plan against Jon. He was the sole person capable of murder in this world, and the sole person who was so vindictive and petty that he would kill anybody who said something that he didn’t like. 

Annabelle was arrogant. She thought herself the most intelligent person in every room. She was petty, manipulative, and power-hungry. She thought that the world was so broken that somebody had to fix it, and that she was the only one who could. She was desperate. 

Jon didn’t particularly want to do this. But Jon really, really had to grow up. 

Jon opened the door. 

It was a far cry from the nice, professional conference room in City Hall. The floor was some ugly light brown hardwood color, and the walls were tudor-like and panelled. Old man ribboned curtains, an intricate rug woven from human rights abuses, and a claw-foot long conference table with an array of chairs made up an incredibly ‘antique’ room. The British found ‘antique’ and ‘wealth signalling’ to be the same thing. It made for some very ugly buildings and very uncomfortable chairs.

 Nobody else had entered yet. Jon checked the time with his extradimensional psychic powers and realized that Sasha had hustled them out the door fifteen minutes earlier than necessary. She was so intelligent. 

Agnes was already moving to her uncomfortable seat, and Jon tapped Basira on the arm and silently pointed to the seat with the ‘EXTINCTION’ placard. She raised an eyebrow at him, but followed his direction. Maybe that was what her trust looked like. 

There was a placard stamped ‘BEHOLDING’ in big letters. Gone unoccupied since the last time Jon had been here. 

He ignored it, and sat down at the head of the table. Likely where Annabelle usually sat, as director of the meetings. Historically, where the leader of Britain had once sat and directed the affairs of the country.

Jon kicked up his heels on the polished antique wood, pulling up an episode of The Twilight Zone in his brain. He identified with Rod Serling. 

The other Avatars filtered in, one by one. All of their eyes widened when they saw Jon, but none of them said anything. Jon wondered what had filtered through the Avatar grapevine. They always knew all of the gossip on each other. It was impossible to miss the Earth’s paradigm shift, and Agnes mentioned that they had convened an emergency meeting on it. Doubtlessly, his name had come up. They likely knew he was the instigator. Who else could?

Annabelle was the fourth in, as fashionably on time as usual. She was the only one who stopped in her tracks when she saw Jon. A surprise, to a woman unused to surprises. Jon’s house didn’t have insect problems. 

Her eyes widened. Her jaw clenched. That was all it took. And Jon Knew, in the way that he Knew things, that she was wondering if this was when he finally killed her. 

She didn’t know why she was still alive. It was stressing her out. It was a move that made no sense - an unforeseen reaction. Jon was predictable. When Jon wasn’t predictable, and when Jon’s actions weren’t being very precisely controlled, then she was left with a vindictive and irreverent steam train on her hands. She hadn’t predicted his presence here. 

Jon was also sitting in her chair. Scuffing the wood. Leaning back in the chair, and definitely scuffing the floor too. 

He pointed to the chair at his right, with a placard that now read ‘WEB’. Annabelle sat down in it. Everybody noticed. 

Everybody also noticed Basira. She was receiving some glares, or some pointedly unwelcome expressions. But Basira’s glares and unwelcome expressions were more powerful than any demon could ever offer, and one by one each Avatar looked away in shame.

Only Oliver actually talked to him. Which made sense, as Oliver feared neither life nor death. When he walked in he was just as surprised to see Jon as everyone else, but he offered Jon a smile too. Jon smiled back, which made several of the other Avatars lean back.

“Hey, Archivist. I thought you hated these things.” 

“I do!” Jon said cheerfully. “I wasn’t even invited.”

Annabelle busied herself with her notes and agenda. 

As usual, Helen didn’t show up. Jon waited patiently for everybody to filter in. Sarah Baldwin didn’t show up either, and Jon searched for the information before realizing that he really didn’t want to know. He saw some other new faces, as well as some faintly familiar ones. It wasn’t that strange: no position of absolute power was forever. Where was that bloke Wakely?

Wait. He was the Avatar who had talked for too long about burying people alive at a party in a ridiculous skyscraper. He had upset Daisy. Jon had seen red and lost his temper. Jon had...tossed him over the side of the roof. Let him keep falling. Left him to waste away. He was probably gone now. 

The entire room had been at that party. Whoops. 

Now uncomfortably reminded that Jon had murdered two people at this table, that everybody was aware of that, and that Jon had completely forgotten about one of the semi-accidental murders because, in Sasha’s words, he was “a bit of a psychopath, what the hell”.

This distressed her, because apparently Jonathan Sims had always been a “sensitive boy” with a “tender heart”. Daisy had said that he was still a sensitive boy, just prone to power-tripping. Sasha said that this was also very consistent behavior. Martin said -

Martin said that Jonathan Sims had been a good person. And, more importantly, that Jonathan Sims had wanted to be a good person. That was one thing that Jon didn’t want to change. 

Who just buried people alive -

Jon waited until everyone was settled down. Nobody was chatting or talking to each other: just sitting silently, avoiding eye contact. 

He could see Annabelle preparing herself to say something. Better get this ball rolling, then.

“Jonah Magnus is dead.”

The silence suddenly became oppressive. 

Jon didn’t stop to savor the looks on their faces. That wasn’t the point. Enjoying this wasn’t the point. Jon had all the power he wanted and - and he didn’t want it at all. He hoped that nobody here would make him have to prove it. 

Jon did not want to melt anyone. He wasn’t going to melt anyone. Life had started feeling a little valuable lately. These people, the soulless demons surrounding him, weren’t any different than he was. Humans with delusions of grandeur. Infighting and power plays weren’t going to fix it. 

But Annabelle had been right, as she always was. Jon couldn’t keep ignoring this. If he could do something, he had to. Even if it was something he didn’t like doing. 

Or something he hated that he enjoyed doing. 

“Jonah Magnus is dead,” Jon repeated pleasantly. “The world has changed. These two events are related, of course.”

He didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t lie, but he didn’t have to say everything. 

“The chains which bind this Earth have loosened,” Jon continued. He folded his hands over his stomach, relaxed and casual. “We now exist in the third age of life. I ask that you do not resist.

“The seasons have begun to change, our eternal placid summer ripening into fall and sinking into winter. Our world turns yet again. Babies are born, grow old, and die. The apocalypse as we’ve always known was rooted in its stagnancy. Life and growth has bloomed, and will continue to subsist. Change is once again thriving, and we must adapt with it.

“You’ve noticed that your power has weakened. You will have to fight harder than ever to maintain your food supplies. What was once a conquest is now a battleground. The playing field is far from even, but the enemy and harvest now have a fighting chance.” Jon smiled brightly. “Of course, I’m sure that this was all discussed during your emergency meeting. Great job with your repeated warfare attempts against humanity during the last six months, by the way. How’s that working out for us?”

Silence loomed. Of course, their repeated attempts to quash the new human uprising had not gone very well. At the end of the day, for every one Avatar there were thousands of humans. 

“You are no longer strong enough to allow these divides into factions,” Jon continued. “We must present a united front if we’re going to maintain the ground we have. We can’t continue on the way we have. And I’ve realized…” Jon glanced at Annabelle, catching her eye. “I’ve realized that I haven’t been helping the situation. There’s more I can do. That’s why Annabelle has handed over moderation of these meetings to me.”

Nobody looked impressed. 

He could see it: the way Jon had become an unpredictable, dangerous nuisance towards them. Almost everyone in this room would be much happier if Jon dropped dead. Nobody had really liked him because nobody had ever felt safe around him. Only Annabelle and Oliver - the person who had nothing to fear from him and the other person who did not feel fear - called themselves his friends. 

But they would have preferred it if Jon was hostile or dangerous. If he had even admitted his power. But Jon play-acted at harmlessness, unwilling and afraid to make enemies, and in that way he became a nuisance rather than an enemy. He couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t on purpose. No matter how many Avatars brushed him off or ignored him, it was better than feeling their eyes on him. Or feeling the fear rich on their tongues. 

 “Also I invited a human to work with us on human affairs,” Jon said cheerfully. “Diversity hire! Any questions?”

There were a lot of questions. Basira didn’t look very pleased at his remark, either. 

Simon leaned forward first, pale and watery eyes intent for the first time. “What happened to Jonah Magnus?”

“Natural causes,” Jon said cheerfully. “Next?”

“What does this mean for us?” the Lukas matriarch said. Her eyes skittered away from him. “Are we in danger?”

Jon shrugged. “Only if you’re incompetent at feeding.”

“What caused this?” Manuela demanded. “The children are running wild, we can’t control them. We’ve lost a major food source.”

Jon scratched his temples. “What caused it...sustainability efforts.” He sobered abruptly. “You could never control the children, anyway. This is the generation of the apocalypse. You’ll find that very little frightens them now.”

“Does this have to do with those humans you’ve been running around with?” Jared asked, scratching his chin as Manuela’s expression contorted in rage. 

As usual, a frighteningly insightful observation from such a brute. “It is actually directly their fault!”

Everybody turned to look at Basira, who was completely unapologetic. She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask me. First I’m hearing about this too.”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?” Oliver asked, morbidly fascinated. “How?”

“We humans didn’t kill him. We showed up at the Panopticon to kill him, only to find Jon there and Jonah Magnus already dead.” Basira scowled as Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Jon subtly shook his head. Annabelle’s lips thinned. “It looked like he’d been dead for years.”

An unfamiliar young man with a thick mop of clumped black hair peered at Jon, expression contorted in grotesque interest. He was one of the Avatars who had been born in the Apocalypse, who were all recognizably weird. His name was - right, Geoff Anjou. Some French man who had made his mark in the Parisian Underground before moving to London and conquering his next terrain. A Parisian to the bone - or, a great deal of bones, as the case may be. So many bones. Jon had always meant to take Daisy to that wonderful little nightmare and let her run loose. Chase people through the tunnels. Munch bones. Perfect vacation. 

“So did the Archivist kill him?” Geoff asked, in the same way you would ask who won the World Cup. “Steal his Watcher’s Crown or whatever?”

“Are you the new queen bee?” a young woman asked Jon. The new Slaughter Avatar, Henrietta Something-or-another. A Cambridge legacy college student, Annabelle had intoned, and Jon had been afraid to inquire further. She was cyberbullying someone on her mobile, which seemed to be bleeding. “Cuz, like, you don’t seem qualified.”

“I did not kill Jonah Magnus,” Jon said, for the five hundreth time in the last six months. “And I’m uninterested in filling his shoes. That’s enough questions, I think.”

“Are you as weakened as the rest of us?” Amherst demanded. “Surely this destruction has affected you worst of all.”

“He probably ate Jonah Magnus,” Henrietta said. “The Archivist’s probably god now.”

Geoff snorted. “No way. He brought a human as back-up.”

“Why is there a human?” Another woman asked, with long brown hair and a broad face. Something about her was unquestionably severe, from her bulging muscles to her incredible height. Jon had never seen her before in his life. Her name was Julia Montauk. Something about her stank of life and undeath, same as Amherst. “We can’t exactly work with the prey, here.”

“I’m proposing an emergency motion,” Amherst said suddenly, shutting up the rapidly overlapping voices. “I vote that a leader is elected democratically. And that representatives are limited towards loyal patrons of the Forces.”

“I second that motion,” Geoff said immediately. “We can’t afford a chaotic uprising in our government right now -”

“This really isn’t a vote,” Jon said. 

“Isn’t this a democracy?” Henrietta asked, with the self-righteous assurance of a twenty year old. “We vote on things in a democracy. And leaders.”

“Annabelle was voted in last spring,” Julia agreed. “No reason to change things.”

Well. Basira said that she trusted him. He’d have to rely on that.

Jon pressed down. 

It felt just like that: pressing down. Reaching out a hand and squashing. Sometimes it was like ripping someone into shreds, and other times it was like plunging your hand into their chest and ripping out their heart. But this was just a press: a heavy static, bearing down over your shoulders like a ten ton weight. A sight so horrible that it was too eldritch to even look at. The realization that the hideous sight was you, and that it was all you would ever be.

Some - Geoff, Amherst - gasped, as if they were choking. Others - Lukas, Henrietta - gasped at their hearts, as if they were having heart attacks. Jon carefully kept it off Oliver, Annabelle, Basira, and Agnes. He couldn’t help but remember what she had said a few weeks ago, about being so frightened - 

But Basira winced anyway, clutching her temples, and Jon carefully released the static until the inhabitants of the room could breathe again. His eyes did not stop glowing, and Jon didn’t bother to turn off the light show. 

Jon put his feet down on the floor and rested his elbows on the table, leaning forward. As everyone shuddered and gasped, he spoke slowly and pointedly. “This is not a democracy. It never was. It is a monarchy, and the line of succession is clear.”

Annabelle’s eyes widened, and she abruptly clenched her fists before loosening them. An uncharacteristic show of emotion from her.

“This coalition has never been a democracy,” Jon said severely. “This is a house of lords. You are uninterested in representing any needs but your own, and I know Jared failed level eight government, but I’m sure all of you know that democracy represents elected officials. Nobody here has ever lived in a true democracy, and in your human fallibility you have recreated the only system you have ever known. The seats at this table are determined by power - all of you, the most powerful conduits for your Entity. I am the inevitable consequence of this system. I am your natural disaster. All of you bought me. Now you have me. And you are no longer powerful enough to make me leave.”

Agnes’ hand was covering her mouth. Jon dearly hoped Basira was holding onto that trust. He dearly hoped that he wasn’t speaking from anger. 

But he couldn’t stop. It boiled and bubbled. It was an anger and a powerlessness that had subjugated him for thirty two years of his life. It had served as the cloud hanging over his head for three more. 

“If you want someone to blame for the Archivist who now moderates this meeting,” Jon said, his voice the thin lid over this boiling pot of hurt and anger, “I now know their names. Jonah Magnus. Jude Perry. Nikola Orsinov. Twice. Breekon and Hope’s coffin. Peter Lukas. Jane Prentiss. Maxwell Raynor. A strategic book.” Jon tilted his head, having effectively made his point. There were others, but he had forgiven Daisy and Melanie a long time ago. And Jared had been polite about it. “Bring up your complaints with them. Good luck with that.”

Jon clapped his hands, closing the lid on those memories. Maybe one day the pain would leech from them like a sun-bleached painting, but that day hadn’t come yet. “Now! If you have any further complaints about my position here, or if you want to continue debating political theory, feel free to stand up and tell me so. We’re all interested in you regurgitating your life story until you die. Anyone?” Crickets. Jon leaned back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “Can we go onto the motions now? Ms. Hussain first, then clockwise from her.”

As if they had planned this, with the air of a well-choreographed actress, Basira stood up and spread out her papers in front of her. “The human contingency requests neutral zones in essential areas. Maternal wards in hospitals are highly vulnerable locations, and when assaulted by parasites the mortality rate of children is very high. If you want a self-replenishing food source, you have to allocate space for safe living. The next essential zone is a daycare and a school for children -”

And she was off. Jon had nothing to say, nor was anything necessary. Raging debate sparked after she finished speaking, and Basira effectively crushed the opposition. Agnes spoke up in her defense, and to Jon’s surprise even Manuela contributed a solid understanding of the necessity of children. When the debate started spiraling in an unhelpful direction Jon cut in and shut it down, before forcing the vote. 

It did not pass, obviously. 

“By the way,” Jon said. “Ms. Hussain proposed five different motions today. At least two of them have to pass. This debate is about picking which two you want.”

Then that started up all over again, and Jon tried not to fall asleep.

Moderating was hard. He actually had to pay attention and focus, and he hated focusing. He was effective enough at shutting down conversations, but sometimes shutting down conversations wasn’t helpful - he just needed to steer them in a more productive conversation. And Agnes’ political theory and Basira’s almost-definitely-made-up statistics started flying so thick and fast above his head that Jon was starting to almost completely lose the plot.

Jon chose his moment as the Lukas woman was complaining extensively about how Henrietta’s digital bullying was intruding upon the Loneliness of her adherents. Henrietta had argued that social media made people more lonely. Jon was afraid that Henrietta was his fault. Maybe the Eye’s fault, holistically. Jared wanted to be friends with Henrietta and co-host Instagram events, which Jon enthusiastically supported despite Basira’s glares.

He leaned over to his right, gesturing slightly at Annabelle so she would lean in closer. She raised an eyebrow at him. Annabelle’s eyebrows were crushing. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jon whispered to her, as quietly as possible. 

Annabelle mouthed very clearly at him, ‘Wow, really? Shock!’. 

“I was making a point,” Jon hissed. “An important point. But I don’t - I still -” Jon faltered, uncertain, as Henrietta began sneering something about Lukas’ hairdo. Finally, he weakly said, “You care. They need you.”

Annabelle stared at him for a long, silent moment, before turning away from him. 

For the first time that day, she spoke to the room. “Let’s keep ad hominem attacks out of this,” she said sharply. “Madame Lukas, if you’ll make your closing remarks we can bring this to a vote.”

She really was good at it. Just like she had always wanted. She had never directly admitted it, but Annabelle had always wanted to be the kind of person in rooms like this. 

A politician sitting in an uncomfortable chair at 10 Downing Street. Rich, successful, important. Powerful and respected. Back then, she had wanted to be famous. Now, she was content to be controlling famous people. A dream out of her reach in life; laughably attainable in this stagnant after-afterlife. 

The dream had crippled her. In her search for a functional world, one that achieved and grew and provided a comfortable world, she had ended up recreating a world that hadn’t been functional at all. A world that was slow to change, and seemingly impossible to improve. A world passed down from the hands of the greedy and bloodthirsty into the hands of the uncaring and apathetic. 

The apocalypse had been inevitable. Humans driving themselves to extinction. And Avatars, possessed of human weakness, had been eager to do the same. Just a pathetic room of sour and bitter people power-tripping. 

For all that Sasha calls us bougie, Jon thought, we’re such deeply unhappy people. 

There had once been a young man, desperate for attention and acknowledgement. Dreaming of importance. He would stay up late at night, planning out his life as a famous researcher and well-respected philosopher. Everyone would tell him how smart he was. He would prove it all - with a scholarship to Oxford, with a sneer and a haughty air, with a boss who said that he had so much promise, here’s a job that will let you realize your potential. 

I deserve this job -

Something in Jon’s mind flared, a hot poker rammed behind his eye sockets. Jon hissed, one hand reaching unconsciously to his temple, and Annabelle glanced at him in alarm. She had - Jon had been thinking about her, and - what had he been -

Together, they managed to wrangle the meeting into something half-way productive. Most importantly, Basira had gotten three of her proposals passed, and Agnes’ arguments were stirring the other Avatars into serious discussion. Conversation itself would be stilted by his sheer presence, and they weren’t quite all working together yet, but they would. 

It was really all the same to Jon if the Avatars or humans won the war. He should care a bit more than he did, so he didn’t vocalize this to the others. But this conflict sparked life, a strange and frantic energy. Experiences and growth. That was what Jon had always fed on.

It seemed that Jon’s skill at prioritizing himself over all others was as sharp as ever.

Eventually the two hours wrapped up, and the other Avatars were eager to leave. Jon waved them off cheerily. 

“Meeting adjourned. Try not to do anything stupid until next time. And if any of you break the boundaries of the human safe zones, I’ll know! Annabelle, will you stay behind?”

The others filtered out quickly, uncharacteristically unwilling to see whatever carnage would be wrought. Agnes and Basira lingered. 

“That went so well!” Agnes shouted, the minute the last Avatar left. The room was now empty save for Agnes, Basira, Annabelle, and - Oliver, who was leaning against the doorframe. “I can’t believe you actually did something useful!”

“Ouch,” Oliver said. 

It was fair, though. Jon smiled weakly at her. “Hopefully I can help out a little more often going forward. But I’m not going to give any favoritism to you, Agnes. I’ll intervene to give humans a fair shot, but I really don’t want to be...king of a ruined world or whatever.”

“I know,” Agnes said firmly. She reached out and squeezed his arm, round and gentle face creased in determination. “You’d be terrible at it. So just be you, okay?”

Jon saluted her, before gesturing to the door. “Will you steal a historical British artifact from this garbage building for me? Daisy needs more targets to shoot.”

Agnes nodded eagerly and ran off. Jon silently hoped Basira would follow her, if also out of interest for also seeing British things destroyed, but she just looked at Jon intensely instead. Not quite a glare - just a searching, intense look, as if she was finding her own Statement from deep within him. It had always been disconcerting. Jon was still convinced she hated him.

“It’s not as if I knew you very well before we rescued you from the Panopticon,” Basira said crisply, pressing a folder to her chest, “but you’ve changed. What happened? What did Annabelle have to do with it?”

Jon and Annabelle glanced at each other. Oliver lifted an eyebrow. 

“Basira -”

“Don’t ask me to trust you.”

“I didn’t betray that,” Jon asked, “did I?”

Her expression didn’t soften. “You didn’t. We’re going to continue needing your help. But an ally with inscrutable motivations who does everything on a whim is a bad ally to have.”

“I’m trying, Basira,” Jon said, impossibly exhausted and just a little disappointed. “Please be patient.”

“I’ve been patient for three years,” Basira said, before forcibly cutting herself short from whatever emotion she was about to display. “What happened?”

A phantom pain pieced Jon’s arms, like chains threaded through bone. Jon fought the urge to wince, unconsciously reaching up to rub at a spot on his forearm. Everyone noticed. “It’s...family business…”

“Did you kill Jonah Magnus?”

“Jonah Magnus killed me,” Jon snapped, far louder than he intended, “so he would have deserved it, wouldn’t he!”

He felt a little lightheaded, more than he intended. It felt like a hand was clenching inside his chest, more than he wanted. No, Basira is fragile, you can’t just - no, Agnes is a kid, Daisy said that we can’t -

“Basira Hussain,” Annabelle said, hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes serious and intent. Jon started, surprised to hear her speak again. “You should go catch up with Agnes.”

Basira stared at Annabelle for a long moment, lips thin, before she abruptly whirled on her heel and stalked out. Jon watched her go, exhausted. He waited for her heels to click down the hall, far away enough that he knew she wasn’t eavesdropping, before groaning and dropping his head down onto his desk. 

“They hate me.”

“They’re scared of you,” Annabelle pointed out. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Frankly, Basira could stand to be a little more afraid of you. She’s going to get herself in trouble one of these days.”

“She’s practically my sister in law, I’m not going to hurt her,” Jon snapped. “Your stupid plan relied on me never hurting people I love.”

 “Sorry,” Oliver said pleasantly, “is anyone ever going to tell me what’s going on? I feel like an NPC in Jon’s Dungeons & Dragons game.”

“You want to be an NPC, I found you working at Taco Bell.” God, whatever. Jon could tell Oliver. He wouldn’t give a shit. Jon sighed, lifting his head to twist around and look at Oliver instead. “You remember when I was asking around after Sasha James? Annabelle had put me up to it.”

“Obviously. And then Sasha James started following you around? You terrorized Annabelle’s party again?”

“Yeah, it was this whole big thing.” Jon waved a hand expressively. “Anyway, then Annabelle tried to trap me in an eternal limbo that would shred me from inside out so I could act as purveyor of the world, and probably also use her connection with me so she could take over affairs here, and probably either nudge me into shaping the world back into order or into sinking it deeper into hell. I broke out and now I’m mad at her.”

“I had at least twenty other reasons,” Annabelle said, “but that’s the gist.”

Oliver stared at them.

They all sat in awkward silence. Jon found himself winding a finger around a stray coil of  hair and letting it spring back into place. He had kept it the same the last three years, never bothering to change the style. A loose and bouncy cloud of hair, sometimes brushing against his shoulders until Annabelle kidnapped him to cut it again - him, as much as the trenchcoat was. So much as anything had ever been ‘him’. 

“Well,” Oliver said diplomatically, “I see that you skipped a lot of steps there. So why are you here, then?”

Was it just to spite Annabelle? Screw her out of her work? Did Jon genuinely care? Did he want to organize the other Avatars, get them mobilized and going? Did he want to protect the humans? 

Did he really only care about himself, and the people he called his friends and family? Did he really only care about himself, and those he possessed?

“There’s a person I want to be,” Jon said quietly, “but I don’t know how to be him.”

Annabelle stared at him, with dark and glittering eyes, expression as implacable as always. For a sudden, stupid, intense moment, Jon wanted to know if she cared about him. If one of the few people who had always helped him, who was always in his corner, had seen him as anything more than a tool. 

Like Basira, who didn’t like him as a person, but found him too valuable to alienate. But Basira was - she was deeply good, if not always kind, and Jon had the sense that she had fought to turn herself into that good person. It was something she chose. She was trying to push Jon into making that same choice. 

Jon clenched his hands in his lap, his fingernails digging into his palm. “There’s people I respect, and who I want to respect me. This person I want to be...I’m worried that I only want this because that’s what they want. They’ll deny it, but they want my power. Everybody just makes me into whoever they want. Whatever’s useful to them.” Jon’s gaze snapped to Annabelle, and he fought hard to keep the compulsion from his voice. It was difficult, when he wanted to know so badly, but - “The kind of person I used to be. That person I’m ashamed of. Is that the person who was useful to you?”

He didn’t want to force the answer from her. He wanted her to choose to say it. 

Annabelle didn’t react. She didn’t show anything on her face. Much less what Jon wanted from her. She just tilted her head, one of the few unafraid to meet his eyes. “I never made you be anyone, Jon. All I ever did was put you in the right place at the right time.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Jon said, and this time he couldn’t help the static creeping into his voice. “Answer me.”

Annabelle sighed. “Of course it was useful. Is that what you wanted me to voluntarily say, Jon? I didn’t bring you to the first meeting because I thought it would be educational for you. I needed your power to keep the others in line. I needed everyone else to see that I controlled your power. That’s the only reason why any of this worked. We both got something out of it. Don’t pretend that you weren’t happy with the arrangement.”

It...it wasn’t a surprise, but…

“So that’s why you didn’t bring him to any of the other meetings,” Oliver mused. “He wasn’t as controllable as you liked, not when there’s more than ten other idiots around needling him. There’s never been anybody who can always predict when Jon’s going to lose his shit. Besides the biggie, I guess.”

The biggie, which was his past. 

No wonder he had stayed so childlike, innocent, and cruel for so long. Jon took responsibility for his own laziness, but - but he had been most useful that way. Annabelle had liked him best that way.

Daisy had liked him best that way too. That cruel child - Daisy had wanted him, because he made her feel needed. Annabelle was just the same.

Everyone had liked him best that way. And if Jon became the kind of person who he wanted to be, nobody would like him at all.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Annabelle said, exhaustion seeping in through her voice, “just do it.”

Jon closed his eyes. He could feel it - Annabelle’s exhaustion, the way that she had just been waiting for him to do this. Everything she knew about Jon led towards an obvious course of action. Even though you nobody knew everything that set Jon off, certain things were pretty guaranteed that he wouldn’t forgive. 

Annabelle had never accounted for Sasha. She had brought Sasha into his life, and she had no idea the effect she would have on it. Sasha, who had been the first to tell Jon that she chose to care about him for him. For a brief, hot flash, Jon was jealous. He wanted to be someone unpredictably kind. 

If he only wanted that because he had found yet another person to give his wind-up key, then…

“You won, Annabelle,” Jon said finally, and he only knew it as he said it. “Congratulations. You played the perfect manipulation. You took a vulnerable, afraid man, who had been violated in the worst possible way and left to die.” He stood up, already uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “And you arranged him so that he loved you. I chose to love you. I’m making the choice never to hurt you, because I still love you. ”

He left the room. Oliver stood aside just in time, letting Jon brush by. 

As Jon met up with Agnes and Basira, summoning a smile and a wave for them, he felt uncomfortably as if he had grown up. 

He wasn’t sure that he liked it.

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Dinner at the Demers

(Story Post)

“Here we are,” Fay said pulling up the driveway. He parked and smiled to Theo. “Let me get your door.” “I got it,” Theo chuckled, opening his door and getting out himself. As his case worker, Fay had been helping Theo a lot with talking out his feelings around his pregnancy. The merman was more than friendly and Theo always felt comfortable around him, even when it came to very personal things like body dysmorphia or feelings of loneliness. Theo had found that he and Fay had a few things in common, like the fact that they'd both left home to pursue their careers. After just a few sessions with him, Theo liked to consider the merman his friend and was very happy to be invited over to his place for dinner. “Thanks for having me,” Theo said as he followed Fay to the front door. “I don't get out much, especially now.” “It's no problem,” Fay said. “Dari was glad to hear you were coming. He has a habit of taking group members in under his wing. Camilo's like a son to him now.”

“I'm pretty sure I'm older than Dari…” Theo said. “You're the same age actually,” Fay stated. Theo blinked. “He's thirty?!” “Looks can be deceiving,” Fay said. “He looks like he's twenty at most,” Theo stated. “Is he aging backwards?” “It's a little complicated but it isn't my place to explain,” Fay said. “Let's just say his body needs time to catch up.” “Okay, but, like…” Theo rubbed his neck. “I'm gonna have a hard time not thinking about that.” “If you get him in the right mood, Dari will tell you whatever,” Fay assured. “Anyway, we eat a lot of fish in this household, but I understand someone in your condition might prefer something safer so we also have chicken. What do you prefer?” “Oh, fish is fine,” Theo said. “Dr. Aias said there really isn't any diet restrictions for me, so long as I eat healthy for myself. I can smoke and drink if I want. The baby's not going anywhere. I don’t smoke. Haven’t really touched alcohol either… Still feels kinda wrong.” “Fair enough,” Fay unlocked the door and let them inside. “Oh, don't let the cat out.” “Huh?” Theo looked down to try and see if any animals were at his feet but he then realised he couldn't see his feet at all and a second later, a cat dashed out from under him and onto the porch. “Ah, sorry Theo, I wasn't thinking,” Fay said. He managed to catch the feline and pick her up. “This is Slippers. She's very curious and friendly.” Theo offered a hand to sniff and then pet the cat on the head. “She's very cute.” “I got her as a gift for Dari a while back,” Fay said. “He's very protective of her so even though we don't get much traffic out here, she's best as an indoor cat.” “Got it.” “Come meet the kids,” Fay said. “Twins should be down for a nap right now, but otherwise, trouble should be about.” It didn't take long until the first few heads popped out to see them. “Papa!” one child yelled, flinging themselves around Fay's waist. Another just stood there and pointed at Theo. “Baby belly!” Theo flushed red. “Uh, yeah...” “Otter, pointing is rude,” Fay said, pushing his son's hand down. “Apologise to my friend Theo.” “Sorry, my friend Theo,” Otter said, still just staring up at the man. “It's fine,” Theo assured. “Siv, mon poussain,” Fay said to the other boy, sliding a hand between his side and his son to pry him off. “Papa can't move if you're hugging so tight.” “I missed you,” Siv whined. “I missed you too,” Fay said, petting his son's head. “Where's Daddy?” “Green room,” Siv said, pointing to the back of the house. “Greenhouse. And your sisters?” “Um... Ari and Kat with Milo and Zoe with Daddy and the babies sleep.” “And do we remember the babies names?” Fay asked. “Um...” “I do!” Otter said quickly. “I know you do,” Fay said patting Otter's head. “I want Siv to remember. They're a little harder.” “Oh.” Siv racked his brain. “Uh, Anna and...” He looked at Otter who was signing to him. “Isa...belle?” “Annabelle and Isabelle, that's right,” Fay approved. “Next time, no cheating. Get your big brother and let's meet in the greenhouse, okay?” Siv looked at Otter and then grabbed his arm. “Specifics... Both of you get your eldest brother, understood?” Fay rephrased. “Yeah!” Otter said, letting go of his father and taking Siv's arm to go get Milo with him. Fay took Theo outside to the back of the house. Theo was immediately impressed by the spacious yard, with a pool as well as a relatively large greenhouse. Inside, there were rows and rows of vegetables and flowers growing. Dari was found between the leaves, dwarfed by his own six-foot-tall tomato plants. Zoe was toddling about at his feet and grabbing any ripe tomatoes she could get her little hands on. Dari looked upset when he heard Fay and Theo entering. “Zoe, tomatoes in the basket, bunny,” he instructed as he pulled off his gardening gloves. Zoe completely ignored him and just kept grabbing tomatoes, ripe or not and trying to put them in her mouth. “My love,” Fay said, stepping up to his husband and wrapping his arms around him. Dari took his sun hat off and wacked Fay over the arm with it. “You should've reminded me Theo was coming over! I would've started dinner early.” “I told you this morning. What more reminders do you need?” Fay asked. “And that's not a jab, I want you to know.” “...Maybe, an hour before you leave work,” Dari said. “It takes two hours to make dinner?” Fay asked. “It can!” Dari said. “It allows me time to prepare. Now a guest will have to wait with us.” Fay kissed his forehead. “I'll make dinner. You can do your thing. Hang out with Theo.” “Hi, Theo,” Dari finally said, acknowledging his guest. “I'm sorry about this.” “You really have nothing to apologise for,” Theo said. “I don't mind waiting to eat. I had a big lunch.” “Come here,” Dari waved Theo over. Theo obeyed, going over to Dari. “Your garden is amazing. I feel like you never have to get groceries.” “That’s the idea,” Dari said, nodding. He hovered a hand over Theo's stomach. “Can I touch?” “Sure. You're not the first.” Dari placed his hand on the protrusion and rubbed softly. “Aliens, right?” “That's right. Though, they’re not big enough to feel or anything…” “I'll go start dinner,” Fay said, leaving them be. “Were you abducted?” Dari asked. Theo shook his head. “No. Well, not really. Not in the traditional sense. I was...visited in my dreams.” “That's different...” Dari pondered. “Different?” Dari took his hand back and patted his own chest. “I was abducted. I had children for the aliens, each ripped from me the moment they were born. Or even before.” Theo frowned. “I'm so sorry... That's terrible.” Dari shrugged. “I don't really...feel anything from it anymore. It's like a part of my life I won't get back so why should I lend it any feelings?” “I mean, I guess that's good...” Theo considered. Dari suddenly lifted his own shirt, revealing his slightly distended and scarred stomach. “You see this ‘X’ scar? They implanted an artificial womb inside me and a ‘gamete converter’, which basically steals my DNA and turns it into egg cells... In a way, I stole it from them... I was able to make my children with it, so...it's like...not all bad.” “...Why are you telling me all this?” Theo asked. Dari pulled his shirt back down. “I don't do well in groups but when I heard your situation, I knew I had something in common and I feel like everyone needs people they can relate to for support. I want you to know that I'm here and, at least on the non-consensual alien pregnancy level, I understand more than most people will ever understand.” Theo smiled a bit. “Oh. Thank you. I guess you're right.” “If there's ever anything I can help you with, don't hesitate to contact me,” Dari said. “And don't for a second think you have to forgive them for doing this to you. I haven't.” Theo nodded slowly. “...Um, so Fay mentioned you and I are the same age?” Dari tilted his head. “Are you thirty?” Theo nodded. “You just... You look so young.” Dari put his hands on his hips. “Why, cause I'm short?” “No, well, um...” Dari looked away and started meddling with some cucumber. “I was abducted when I was fifteen. This thing inside me synthesised a chemical similar to estrogen so I didn't really have a chance to finish puberty until I got back... I'm on hormone therapy now. I was supposed to be, ever since I got back, but I couldn't really do it while pregnant five times, could I?” “Five times?” Theo asked. “I thought you have eight kids.” “Twins exist, Theo,” Dari said. “Fay carried Otter and Milo was born well before I got back to Earth.” “But, wouldn’t that—” Theo was cut off when a big red beast of a person came bounding outside carrying two little girls with him and with Siv and Otter at his heels. They came inside and the small children immediately dispersed to go look at the plants and pick anything that looked ripe enough to eat off the stem. The giant red man went directly to the adults and loomed over them, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. Theo was shocked beyond belief and froze up immediately. “Milo, my biggest boy!” Dari cooed wrapping his arms around his son's waist. He was two or three heads shorter than Milo and could barely see above his chest. “Milo, this is Theo. He's a friend.” Milo put the girls down and waved to Theo, before signing to his father. “Milo says he really likes your hair,” Dari said. “I think it's because it's a colour he can actually see well. He’s a bit colour blind.” “Oh, um. Tell him thanks for me?” Theo requested. “Tell him yourself. He can hear you, he just can't speak like us,” Dari explained, happily patting Milo's chest. “He's my big growly boy...” “Oh! Okay, thanks Milo,” Theo said, running a hand through his own hair. “I need to dye it again soon though.” Milo nodded, smiling and signed again. “He thinks you look cool with the roots,” Dari said. “It’s almost like Fay and Ari’s hair. You’re like an honorary merperson.” Theo smiled. “Thanks, but I think Fay pulls off two colours much better than I do. It’s not even blended.” Milo signed again to Dari but Dari didn’t translate and just signed back. Milo looked a little upset and then signed again. “Milo wants to compliment you on your pregnancy,” Dari said. “I told him it might not be appropriate but he insisted.” “That's cool. Thanks, Milo,” Theo said, trying to stay calm in front of the seven-foot-tall red man. “How um, how old is he?” “Twelve or thirteen, we think,” Dari said. “Hard to say.” “You don't know?” Theo asked. “Yeah, well... They weren't really handing out Earth calendars aboard the sex trafficking space ship, so I really don't know when he was born,” Dari said. “We use the day that he came home to us as his birthday.” “That's really... That's some crazy stuff that happened to you, Dari,” Theo said. “I'm so sorry.” “Don't be. It was years ago.” “But really, you talk about it so casually. You know, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” Dari patted Theo’s shoulder. “It happened. It was terrible. It's left me physically, mentally and emotionally scarred for life. But that's all it is. Scars. I can't do much about it. All you can really try to do with scars is put lotion on them or tattoo over them. I'm tired of doing that, so I just wear them. The nightmares come less and less. My physical scars don't hurt anymore. When I tell my story, I can detach myself from it. I don't let it bother me.” He patted Theo's cheek. “Oh, but if it bothers you, I won't talk about it.” “Oh, no, no. I don't mind,” Theo said. “Thank you for opening up.” Dari sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Of course, you don't have to share either if you don't want to. But I am curious... You weren't abducted, but you also don't strike me as the type of guy who hangs around alien bars. No, wait. You mentioned dreams? How does that work?” “It's kind of embarrassing...” Theo said. Dari lifted his own shirt and patted his stomach. “Looking four months pregnant for the rest of your life is embarrassing.” Theo proceeded to tell Dari everything, how the celestial apparently impregnated him in his dreams and how on the first day, he grew so rapidly. Dari listened intently and when he was done, offered up his sympathy and advice. Theo mentioned Henderson, but only as a friend helping him out. He didn't mention that they'd slept together because he still didn't know what it meant yet. They chatted a little more for a while until it was dinner time and they headed on inside. Theo enjoyed his time at the Demers house. The food was good and there was nothing but energy in the dining room as they ate. Siv took a liking to Theo in particular and spent most of the meal telling him about his favourite frog he found the other day. Fay later expressed to his guest how delighted he was to see Siv opening up so easily with Theo since he was apparently the shiest child. This made Theo feel quite a bit better about having to listen to ‘hop hop hop’ and ‘ribbitty ribbit’ over and over. At the end of the night, Fay drove him home. He welcomed Theo to their house any time and Fay would be happy to drive. Theo thanked him for hosting him and then got himself ready for bed. He was exhausted from just being around so many children at one time and was very glad that he would not be dealing with anything like that for himself any time soon.

[notafunkiller]

I love your page, really what I have seen on other blogs...especially shippers, scares me. Wanting to give Sebastian a folder full of accounts that "hate" his "girlfriend" seems extreme to me, the man this week says SM is a waste of time...but this has nothing to do with Sebastian because people just broadcast their opinion, celebrities are exposed to this and it is not going to change...there is a lot of hate on the internet and that is not going to change.

(I think what "angers" me the most is that the blog that is doing this witch hunt is the same one that talked and still talks bad about Ale. It's hypocrisy)

They will only make Sebastian further distance himself from the fandom and that's sad for people who don't even care about his personal life outside of being an actor.

They really need to get out into the real world, Sebastian won't give them a congratulations...I think the opposite will happen.

And they are doing it for Annabelle NOT Sebastian, they will give real names, with pictures and comments that were given...they are being stalkers for people that DO affect them (not celebrities which even though it is wrong, they are used to it).

Bullying someone for a celebrity is not going to make you get everyone to believe your narrative.

Sorry for the long post but I'm venting here because it's the only place that really listens to everything, I think you have are a very reasonable person in this fandom 🌸🌸.

Heyy, thank you so much! I am so glsd you feel free to talk here. And please, do not apologize!

Please, that envelope thing is so ??? Like it's not just ridiculous and shows this person/group of people did not touch grass ever, bur it's also direspectful to him and other fans who paid to meet and talk to him because they genuinely care about him... his roles and projects. This Annabelle shipping/relationship a§s kissing thing does not make people better fans.

(I mean they talk mostly about her on his big days so...)

If he even opens it (assuming he does not throws it away the next moment), what reaction is he supposed to have? Pat them on the shoulder and thank them? Invite them to dinner? They'd just make him uncomfortable and really creeped out bc... who has the time and urge to collect a bunch of info and photos (which btw is stalking and it's illegal) about strangers (just because they do not like Annabelle or they don't believe their relationship is real)?

It's so creepy and weird... I wonder if they'll film too so we can see his ??? face (I hope they don't, but still).

They act as if they actually are friends with Annabelle and Sebastian. As if they are doing them a favor.

They act as if they deserve a medal because they sexualize both: him and Annabelle, connect everything they do; she can't have a hobby without it being connected to him and he can't be in LA even for work meetings without being connected to her etc.

Please, Don ahd to tell them to stop leaking the live link, and Sebastian had to use a photographer blackdrop because they tried to leak/leaked his address multiple times in his live with Don, and instead of realizing how mich they creep him out and that he actually sees what people tlak on social media (because HE IS ON SOCIAL MEDIA, as much as he denies), they continue to talk about how that backdrop is from Annabelle's friend.

It's on another level... how do you miss the point?

I saw two people were being stalked + their families too. This is not just creepy, it's unhealthy and scary.

Why are you so deeply affected by people sharing their opinions on random things and people that you want to threaten them and use their families etc? Like you are definitely not okay if you do that.

Also, the double standard too! If Ale did what Annabelle does, they'd make cancel parties and send mor ethreats as they always did. And they did not stop hating on her, anyway. They still talk about how bad and awful she is.

Bullying is a HUGE NO - no matter who the person is.

Thank you for sharing and don't apologize or be shy 🌸

[moldisgoodforyou]

it’s a girl

warnings: pregnancy, cursing

wordcount: 1.7k

_

In a rare turn of events, Charlie swore JJ was more emotional than she was in the early stages of her pregnancy. 

In reality, he was terrified. He was scared of the tiny shoes they picked out, scared of the tiny ultrasound and the doctor comparing their baby to the size of a lemon, scared of the idea of him being a terrible father. 

“What about...Olivia?”

“Olive.” JJ responded without looking up from his laptop. He had shot down the majority of the baby names Charlie had suggested, somehow able to come up with every possible insult their child could have based off their name alone.

Charlie scowled but kept going, scrolling through a list online.

“Amelia.”

“Is she an eighteenth century princess reborn?”

She huffed. “Emerson? We could call her Emmy.” JJ raised his eyebrows. “You love the dude that invented lightbulbs that much?”

“That’s Edison, baby.”

He scowled. “I don’t like that name either.”

“No, I mean - never mind. Scarlett? You know, like Gone With The Wind?” She mused.

“Never heard of it. Next.”

“Annabelle.”

JJ lifted his head. “Well it’s a fucking mouthful, but maybe.”

“Fuck, JJ, do you have any good ideas?” She complained, crossing her arms. “No, because it’s going to be a boy. We should just find out at the doctor’s, all this would be easier.” He shot back. JJ wouldn’t admit it, but he had almost teared up when John B talked about how fun it would be to teach his kid how to surf and play catch and more. For some reason, he was only able to envision a mini him running around.

“Yeah, well you know I want a surprise.” She paused, holding back a smile. “How about Echo?”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked over, incredulous.

She grinned and nudged him with her foot from the other side of the couch. “I am, yeah, just wanted to see your reaction.”

“Was it what you hoped?” JJ asked dryly.

“Absolutely not. You’re pissing me off,” she informed him. He simply nodded, used to her being mad about stupid things by now. (In retrospect, the name of their child was not stupid - just seemed like a trivial argument at the time.)

“I like Charlotte.”

She laughed. “Hell no.”

“C’mon, we could call her Lottie. If it’s a girl I want her named after my favorite person.” He grinned and she rolled her eyes. “No, that’ll make me sound conceited.”

“Will you at least consider it? I really do love the name.” 

“Thought you were sure we’re having a boy.” She narrowed her eyes. 

“Well.” JJ paused, smiling over at her. “If we don’t.” Charlie scowled. “You know how much I hate my name.” He laughed. “Fine, we’ll save it for our fourth kid. I’ll wear you down by then.” 

“Four kids?! JJ, you’re high. I haven’t even had this one and I’m not sure I’m going to like it enough to have a second.” She smoothed her hands over her stomach, biting her lip for a moment. He shook his head, confident. “No, you will. I don’t know about four, but. You’ll love our baby, I promise.” 

“I know I will, just. Not sure if I want to go through being pregnant again.” Charlie wrinkled her nose for a moment. 

“You know if I could take your job, I would.” He promised, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead, then her stomach. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I have the baby, then you’ll take that back.” 

_

It hadn’t set in until they went in for the ultrasound. Charlie wanted to surprise him and told him it was just a routine appointment she’d like him to be at (he was at every appointment anyways, but still). When the black and white image of their baby came up on the screen, fuzzy around the edges, with the accompanying swishing sounds of the heartbeat, JJ thought he was going to pass out. He squeezed Charlie’s hand hard, going pale as he stared at the screen. 

“That’s our baby, J.” Charlie beamed, glancing over at him. 

“Yes, she looks healthy.” The doctor told them with a grin and Charlie gasped, quietly. They had forgotten to remind the doctor not to tell them, despite Charlie being so adamant about the surprise. 

“She.” JJ repeated softly, tears welling up in his eyes. He had been so set on a boy that he hadn’t even considered the possibility of a girl and now that it seemed so real, the idea of a real person attached to the thing growing in Charlie’s stomach, he wasn’t sure how to feel. He didn’t notice the doctor had flicked off the sound of the baby’s heartbeat and Charlie had asked him about three questions until she was waving her fingers in front of his face. 

“JJ, are you alright?” 

He snapped out of it, shaking his head and plastering on an uneasy smile. “Yeah, sorry, I’m good. Just. Excited.” 

Charlie was entirely unconvinced by his tone, but didn’t press it until they were out of the doctor’s office and in the car. JJ seemed as if he was moving on autopilot, fingers gripping the wheel as he drove. “What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching over and grazing her fingers across the back of his neck. He pressed his head back into her reassuring touch, like always. “Nothing, pretty girl.” 

“You’re lying.” She narrowed her eyes. 

“Yeah. I know.” Years ago, he would have avoided a conversation like this like hell. Over time, he’d realized lying to Charlie was a near-impossible feat. 

“Talk to me, J.” 

“Can we talk when we’re home? Don’t want to be distracted.” 

She frowned. “That bad?” 

“Please, Charlie.” He kept his eyes trained on the road, white-knuckled. 

“Okay.” She mumbled, keeping a reassuring touch on his neck. The rest of the drive was tense, both of them not making a sound. She kept her eyes trained on him, worriedly scanning over his expression and body language until he gave her an unconvincing smile. “I’m fine, sweetheart.” 

“You’re not fine, but I want you to focus on the road, so I’ll let it slide.” 

JJ laughed at that, making her relax just a little. “You know me too damn well.” He parked their car and jogged around to help her out like always, hand resting protectively on the small on her back. “I’d better. I’m your wife.” She came into the apartment with him, greeting their dog Maggie as they went and set their folder from the doctor on the entryway table. 

She tugged him down to the couch and curled herself into his side, knowing he hardly ever opened up if she kept eye contact with him. “Alright. Talk.” He let out a long, slow breath, deciding not to prolong it any further. “I’m sorry, I just...I don’t know how this doesn’t scare the shit out of you, Charlie.” 

At that, she sat up abruptly and reached over, cupping his cheek. “You think I’m not scared?” 

He startled, eyes wide. “You’ve been so calm! Through this entire thing!” 

She bit her lip, getting teary. “You were calm up until today! You were the only reason I wasn’t too scared!” He reached up and held her wrist, shaking his head. “I’ve been trying to hide it from you, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” 

“JJ, can I be honest?” 

“Yeah, always.” He tucked some hair behind her ear, concerned. 

“It’s just...I don’t know how to raise a child, I’ve been around like two babies total in my life, and I’m not sure if I’m responsible enough and am I even going to be a good mom and -” She stopped to take a deep breath, tears spilling onto her cheeks. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” JJ interrupted and pulled her in close, rubbing her back. “You’re going to be an incredible mom. You’re the most responsible person I know, and you’re so good with Maggie -” 

“The dog is not a child, JJ -” 

“Hush.” He grinned at her and wiped the tears from her face with his thumbs, then gave her a short kiss. “We’ll figure it out, okay? And whatever we don’t know, we’ll call your mom and beg for help.” 

She laughed at that, finally offering a small smile. “I’m sorry, I was supposed to be comforting you.” He nodded and pressed his forehead to hers. “Honestly? I feel better knowing you’re scared too. What do you even do with babies when they’re so little? Just hang out with them or something?” 

Charlie grinned. “I guess so. We can take it on walks and feed it and stuff?” 

“Her.” JJ corrected. “This baby is sounding more and more like our dog, though.” 

She let out a deep breath and settled back into his side. “A girl. Can you believe it? I know you wanted a boy, but...” 

He returned to rubbing her back again. “Yeah...dunno. A boy sounded easier.” He paused. “I just...” 

“Yeah?” 

“Never mind.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She frowned and tugged at his shirt. “Tell me.” 

“I won’t be like my dad, right?” He asked quietly, fisting his hand in the back of her shirt. Charlie leaned up and kissed him, slowly and surely. “Never, hon. I don’t know anything about having a baby, but I’m positive you’ll be a wonderful father.” He hummed, unsure. “How do you know?” 

“I know because you’re caring, and thoughtful, and you’re incredibly observant. Because you’re always there for me, and I know you will be for the baby. And that’s enough, J.” She kissed him again and he wore a small smile. “I love you so much, you know that? We’ll figure it out.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” He echoed and held her tight. “Love you too, sweetheart. And our little one.” 

“Our little family.” She murmured. They laid there for a moment, Charlie tracing small circles on his chest. 

“Hey, Charlie. How about Caroline?” JJ suggested, a little hesitant. He told her she could have full naming rights and didn’t want to overstep the boundary he set - after all, she was the one bearing the child. 

“Caroline.” She repeated, testing it out. “Baby Caroline. I love it.” 

He beamed and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? You, me, and baby Caroline.”